


Weapon V

by MagicalComradeMolotovCatgirl



Series: Weapons of Anarchy [1]
Category: V for Vendetta - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crossover, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24645733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalComradeMolotovCatgirl/pseuds/MagicalComradeMolotovCatgirl
Summary: "Remember, remember, the 11th of November..."USA, 2022. "Polite" society had finally defeated any visible trace of Fascism once and for all, by forcing its victims to suffer in silence as to not hurt the fragile feelings of "civilized" Americans. But one man decided to make a joyful noise with his vendetta: the "villainous" Anarchist and masked vigilante known only as Weapon V.
Series: Weapons of Anarchy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1781905
Kudos: 1





	1. The Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As long as the Colossus stands, so shall Rome; when the Colossus falls, Rome shall fall; when Rome falls, so falls the world.

# Prologue: The Visitor

_As long as the Colossus stands, so shall Rome; when the Colossus falls, Rome shall fall; when Rome falls, so falls the world._

Xavier Institute, New York.

“Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen.” Xavier told the interviewer and her crew as he turned his wheelchair around to face them. “I haven’t had the pleasure of any visitor for quite some time now.”

“Thank you for having us, Professor Xavier.” the interviewer said with a smile. “It’s not everyday that the most powerful person in the free world agreed to a one-one-one interview. We’re very excited.”

“Nonsense.” Xavier laughed and waved his hand dismissively. “I’m just a man, like any other man.”

“And leader of the Illuminati, the most powerful lobbyist group in the US.” the interviewer pointed out. “Tell us, Professor, what’s the guiding philosophy behind the organization? What do you believe in?”

“Peace at any cost, civility above all else.” Xavier evoked the line he had repeated ad nauseam. “I’m a Liberal, after all. That means I will defend someone’s right to speak, even if I disagree with them.”

“Even if the they are violent extremists?” the interviewer asked. “Or spreading hatred and bigotry?”

“Of course.” Xavier nodded. “How are we going to function as a nation if we ignore the voices of the people simply because they have opinions we dislike? We must take all kinds, like reasonable people.”

“Some might argue that it’s very easy to do that,” she said, “From a position of power and privilege.”

“What power? What privilege?” Xavier shook his head, incredulous, and patted his legs. “Look at my useless legs! How privileged can I possibly be, when I’ve lost the use of my legs during a robbery?”

“It was committed by a pair of black gangsters, right?” the interviewer reviewed her notes. “Do you believe this event has certain effects on your views when it comes to social issues regarding race?”

“Absolutely not.” Xavier said, adamant. “If you’re accusing me of racism, young lady, you better think again. I can’t possibly be racist, some of my best friends are black! And they are the good ones, too!”

“What about transphobia?” the interviewer pressed on. “There had been questions regarding to your - ”

“You know, I think we’re done here.” Xavier said suddenly. “I’d like you to leave my property now.”

With the impolite and uncivilized visitor out of the way, Xavier turned back to the one true love of his life: Cerebro, the crowning achievement of the Illuminati, the jewel of Liberal “democracy”: a machine that constantly suppress Mutant powers and monitors people every hour of every day, so they could send secret police to dispose of any dissidents who dare to threaten Xavier’s precious little peace.

“Ah, Cerebro…” Xavier whispered, almost like praying, and caressed its screens. “Perfection...”

\\\V//

Liberty Island, New York.

“Hello, dear lady. A lovely evening, is it not?” the visitor said as he saluted the Statue of Liberty with a flourish, standing at the feet of the colossus. “Pardon my intrusion, I know you must be busy guiding all the tired and the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free; nevertheless, I thought it’s time we have a little chat, you and I.”

“Ahh...where are my manners? We’ve yet to be formally introduced.” the visitor said taking off his hat. “I don’t have a name, but you can just call me Weapon V. Weapon V, this here is Lady Liberty. Lady Liberty, this here is Weapon V. Nice to meet you, Lady Liberty. ‘Nice too meet you too, Weapon V.’

“There, now we know each other. But actually, I’ve been a huge fan of yours for quite some time now. Oh, I know what you’re thinking: ‘the poor boy has a crush on me, an adolescent infatuation!’ I beg to differ, milady; it’s nothing of the sort. I have always admired you, on postcards and silver screens.

“Please don’t think I’m a shallow man who only love you for your looks, milady; no, I admired you as a person, an ideal even. Lady Liberty, champion of freedom, enlightening the world with her guiding light, a lover to all free souls! But that’s all in the past now; I’m afraid I must ask you to leave.”

“What’s wrong, Weapon V?” asked ‘Lady Liberty’. “Don’t we have a good thing going with our polycule?”

“Indeed we do.” Weapon V nodded. “But, well...there’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just gonna rip the bandaid off: some of us feel like you haven’t been entirely honest. Favoritism had been mentioned.”

“Favoritism? Don’t be ridiculous!” ‘Lady Liberty’ protested. “I love everyone equally; I said as much!”

“You said it, alright.” Weapon V’s voice is bitter. “But you didn’t actually live up to that promise, now did you, milady? You’ve got a certain...type. Cishet white Conservative men with money, to be exact.”

“Are you accusing me of being a gold digger?” ‘Lady Liberty’ sounded angry. “Oh, the fucking nerve!”

“That’s my line, you hypocrite!” Weapon V pointed an accusing finger at ‘Lady Liberty’. “You say you love everyone equally, but you pamper the whiteys with wealth and prestige, while our other lovers live in abject squalor! You told us you don’t care about gender, but you’ve always bedded cishet men, while showing our queer lovers nothing but disdain! What do you have you say for yourself, now?”

“Well, cat got your tongue?” Weapon V continued triumphantly. “I knew it. Oh, I fucking knew it! Your hypocrisy is finally revealed! You’re not our liberty anymore, you’re their liberty now! Have you ever actually loved us? Have you ever really been our liberty? Whatever, we don’t need you anymore!”

“What are you going to do without me, huh?” ‘Lady Liberty’ asked with mockery in her voice. “Who can possibly replace me?”

“Her name is Anarchy, and she had taught us more as a lover than you ever did!” Weapon V laughed. “She taught us that liberty without equality is meaningless. She’s fair and just, she doesn’t treat people differently because of their skin color or bank credit, and she doesn’t say one thing and do another. I always wondered why you never let go of that torch; now I know you’re just afraid of the dark, because you can’t navigate the night on your own without clutching at the pantleg of your sugar daddies!”

“So farewell, milady; this should have broken our hearts, but you’re just not who we fell in love with anymore.” Weapon V said and took a burner phone out of his pocket. “I hate to break up over texts…”

All over the Statue of Liberty, loud explosions broke out, and soon ‘Lady Liberty’ went up in flames.

“Ah, the fire of Anarchy...how beautiful, how free!” Weapon V sighed. “ _She’s a rebel, vigilante..._ ”


	2. Chapter I: The Villain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One murder makes a villain; millions, a hero.

#  **Chapter I: The Villain**

_One murder makes a villain; millions, a hero._

“Good evening, America.” the sultry voice of a woman flowed out of the TV like honey, straight from the studio into the houses of every American, sticking each word onto their minds like a parasite. “It’s 9PM and you’re watching the Hellfire Club, only on the Daily Bugle. It’s November 11th, 2022…”

Two people are getting all dressed up with somewhere to go: a young Asian girl of sixteen, painting her lips with blood-red lipsticks; a villain hidden in the deep shadows of massive shelves stocked with books such as _To Kill a Mocking Bird_ or _Fahrenheit 451_ , all banned by the Conservative party.

“Over one million unproductive members of this great nation had begged the government for handouts, the highest number in US history.” the voice droned on. “In more important news, the stock market has once again reached a high since the start of the month, making each American that much richer…”

The girl put on a simple little black dress, while the villain put on a pair of black opera gloves; the girl brushed her jet black hair, while the villain put on a pallid white mask; both of them double-checked their appearances in the mirror: the girl looking out for her makeup, the villain adjusting a top hat.

“The MCU raided six farms in Texas this morning, arresting more than sixteen Mutant terrorists. All of them had been shot on the spot for threatening law enforcement. The President would like to remind citizens that total obedience toward law enforcement is what allowed us to keep America great...”

She shivered among the shadowy buildings in Capitol Hill, walking slowly but surely forward, despite her lack of a real destination. There was power here once, power that decided the fate of millions. Her transactions, her decisions are utterly insignificant in comparison; they affected no one...except her.

“Mister?” she asked the first man she saw loitering around the corner of the streets, munching on a box of donuts and smoking cigarettes. “...Uh...would...would you like to...uh...sleep with me or anything?” she asked as she lifted her coat slightly to show some more skin beneath. “...I mean...uh...for money?”

“That’s the worst fucking come-on line I’ve ever heard.” the man said with a smirk. “You’ve not been doing this for very long, have you?”

“Oh God, I must be terrible!” the girl laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s my first night. You’re my first...uh…”

“John?”

“John, yeah.” the girl nodded. “I’ve got a job at Stark Industry, but Mr. Stark...he pays us so little we qualify for food stamps...and his own shops don’t take food stamps…”

Just then the girl leaned in, practically throwing herself at the man, her arms wrapping around his waist.

“Please, mister!” she begged as her hand went fishing in the man’s coat pocket. “I need the money...I’ll do anything…”

“Hands off me, you dirty little bitch!” the man growled as he pushed the girl away with a loud slap, forcefully enough that he left a red hot palm print on her face. “You think I’ve not seen your kind before? Scumbags who don’t even have the decency to sell your own bodies, trying to steal honest money from good men! You -”

The man stopped as he saw, in the cold pale light of the lamppost, the red palm print instantly faded from the girl’s face, as if it was never there in the first place.

“Well, well, well...what do we have here?” the man’s smirk was replaced by a wider, more sinister grin, toothy and predatory like a wolf salivating a lamb to the slaughter. “Do you know who I’m, girl?”

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a badge with three letters on it: MCU.

“Oh shit oh fuck.” the girl gasped. “The X-Men.”

Mutant Containment Unit (MCU) is technically the special response team against Mutant threats. However, since they can be deployed so long as there is a _suspected_ Mutant threat, they’re de facto the secret police of the United States. The Gestapos of the Reich, the Commissars of the Soviet Union, ICE of the old America...different places, different times, different names, same tyranny. They are called the X-Men because if you look up their information, all you can get is a document with every letter crossed out by an “X”. They’ve given up their identities and humanities for a piece of the power that comes from far above, their blood runs coldly blue regardless of their skin color.

“That’s right whore, we’re the X-Men. These are my colleagues.” the X-Man said as two more of his fellow X-Men emerged from the shadows like a pack of rats. “Prostitution, attempted theft, obstruction of justice, and a fucking unregistered mutie on top of that...do you know what we can do to you, you stupid cow?”

“Look man, I don’t want any trouble, just trying to make a living here.” the girl threw her hands up and backed away from the X-Men, until her back was pressed against the wall. “I’ll do anything you want. Really. Just...don’t kill me, okay?”

On the wall was a poster featuring a cross and the flag of the United States, with the words of the Liberal manta:

“ **Peace at Any Cost, Civility Above All Else.”**

“I’m afraid you’re quite mistaken.” the man said coldly. “You’ll do anything we want, _and then_ we’ll kill you. The authority vested in me by the great United States of America permits me to do so.“

“Oh shit oh fuck.” she cursed under her breath. “What do I do what do I -”

“ _She wears her overcoat, for the coming of the nuclear winter…_ ” suddenly, a villain cloaked in blackness entered the stage, singing a song – also banned.

“What the fuck - ” a commotion broken out among the X-Men over this new challenger. “Who’s this retard?”

“ _She is riding her bike, like a fugitive of Critical Mass…_ ” the maddening smile painted on the pallid white mask became visible as the villain came into the lamplight.

“How the hell should I know? Probably a literal retard from some loony bin or some shit.” an X-Man said before he stepped toward the masked vigilante. “We’re cops, retard. This bitch here is a criminal. We need to interrogate her. So hands off or - ”

As if on cue, the X-Man’s hands - which were reaching out toward the villain - were cut clean off, leaving two bloody, useless stumps with white bones visible in the center. Drunk on both alcohol and power, it took him a moment to register the sudden pain, and then he screamed like the pig that he was.

“ _She's on a hunger strike, for the ones who won't make it for dinner…_ ” a trio of shinning metal claws protruded from each black opera glove, all of them red and slick with the X-Man’s blood.

“ _She makes enough to survive, for a holiday of working class…_ ” the villain sang on as he danced among the X-Men with the grace and speed of a wolverine, his claws cutting through their bodies like hot knife through butter.

“ _She's a runaway of the establishment incorporated…_ ” his dance of death finally led him before the girl who got way over her head, and he crossed his claws before his chest to form a scarlet “V”.

“ _She won't cooperate…_ ” his claws retracted into the gloves before he greeted the young girl with a flourish. “ _Well, she's the last of the American girls!_ ”

“You...you just murdered those X-Men!” the girl said, her eyes wide with fear and astonishment, but with a few deep breaths she steadied herself enough to realize: “...But you did save me. So thanks.”

“No problem at all, young lady.” the villain said. “When one good person suffers, all that can be called good suffer with them, and it is their moral duty to come to the aid of the oppressed, for if they don’t they will find themselves alone when it is their time to be oppressed, and their time _will_ come.”

“You don’t even know me.” the girl said. “Who are you, anyways?”

“Me? I’m the hero of fools, the patron saint of lost causes.” the man said. “I’m the bad guy. The super villain. The black sheep of the family.”

“Yeah. Okay.” the girl blinked. “But what the fuck are you doing here? I didn’t think anybody comes here anymore, except for...ya know...working girls.”

“Ahh, but tonight is special. Tonight is a memorial. A grand opening. I even made up a rhyme for it:”

“ _Remember, remember_

 _The 11_ _th_ _of November_

_The tragedy of the Haymarket._

  
  


_I know of no reason why_

_The martyrs of Haymarket_

_Should ever be forgot.”_

Just then, a loud explosion could be heard from afar; the girl turned her head, and the Capitol Building, the seat of the United States Congress, was engulfed in a ball of flame. She was hoping to relieve some rich man of his wallet, but instead she ran into professional murderers and rapists for laws and saw the greatest light show.

“Holy shit, someone blew up the Capitol Building!” the girl said with an almost cheer. “Hold on. Did you do that?”

“I did that.” the villain said with a brisk nod. “Hold on, there’s more…”

The rumble of the explosion had not yet died away as from far below came the rattle of smaller reports, and suddenly the sky was alight with…

“Fireworks! Real fireworks!” the girl’s face was ablaze with a childlike joy when she saw the lights in the sky. “Ohmigod, I haven’t see a real firework since the pandemic…”

And all over the nation, faces lit with fear and horror gazed at the omen scrawled on the veil of the night in flaming letters:

**USA is a Fascist empire.**

“There. The overture is finished.” the villain said as he turned to leave. “Come on, we must prepare for the first act.”

“Who, me?” the girl blinked, shrugged, and followed him. “Oh, why the hell not?”

\\\V//

November 12th, 2022. It was 6:16 in the morning.

“I’ll hear your reports now, gentlemen.” Professor Xavier said, sitting in his wheelchair with the composure of an emperor, as he took lead in the video conference that had became routine since the pademic. “Mr. Fury will speak for the Shield.”

“The Sentinels picked up just less than 3 minutes of useful footage, Professor. I’m afraid most of them were sabotaged before the attack took place.” Director Fury said as a shot of the pallid white mask appeared on the screen. “To my left is an enlargement of the terrorist’s face. I’m afraid the mask makes facial recognition impossible. This is why we should have enforced the anti-mask policies and propaganda during the outbreak, even if it would cost millions of innocent lives.”

“What about communications?” Xavier asked. “Phones, radios...any chattering?”

“An alarmingly large number of people are talking about the explosion at the Capitol Building.” Fury admitted. “Luckily, most of them blame far-left Muslim immigrants, just as we’ve conditioned them to.”

“Good, good.” Xavier nodded. “And you, Erik?”

“We’ve arrested the woman responsible for the fireworks, a Mutant registered in the system as Jubilation Li. We have no idea how she bypassed the psychic blockades placed by Cerebro to access her Alpha Mutations.” Erik said brushing a hand through his graying hair. “I’m afraid the poor young lady is quite insane and unlikely to provide us with any answers. She’s currently flinching away from the dawn because she believes she’s a vampire.”

“Thank you, gentlemen. I trust you two to keep me informed of any further development.” Xavier said. “Remember: peace at any cost, civility above all else, and we can keep America great.”

“Well, we have heard from the others. That leaves you, Mr. Summers.” Xavier turned to Scott Summers, leader of the MCU. “Three X-Men were executed last night by a lone wolf terrorist. It’s also quite possible that the same person had planted the explosives that destroyed the Capitol Building, and maybe even the Statue of Liberty.”

“Professor, I - ”

“Quiet, Mr. Summers.” Xavier said, his voice as calm and even as ever. Then again, when you have all the power in the so-called “free” world, you never need to raise your voice to be heard. “The Capitol Building is one of our oldest symbol of authority, a propaganda tool that makes people believe they can change their lives by voting for people we want them to vote for. Do you know what losing it means?”

“People may start to get ideas.” Xavier turned away from Summers and back to his computer screens. “They may get the mistaken idea that when they and their loves ones are being thrown into cages, the best course of action is to fight back instead of protesting peacefully like we told them to. Now we can’t have that, can we?” a dismissive wave. “Find the terrorist, so we may keep America great.”

“Professor.” Summers bowed and took his leave.

\\\V//

“Look, I don’t wanna sound ungrateful. But.” the girl asked as she glanced around the room. “What’s with all this cloak and dagger bullshit? You have to blindfold me to get me here? If you hadn’t just saved my ass back there, I’d think you’re kidnapping me. Hell, I still kinda feel like that might be it.” she pulled a banned book off one shelf; it’s titled _Catch-22_. “What even is this place?”

“We are in the Danger Room. This is my home.” the villain said. “Do you like it? I built it myself.”

“The Danger Room?” the girl blinked and glanced around some more. “Don’t look too dangerous to me.”

“Oh, but it is. Dangerous.” the villain said as he gently caressed the spines of a line of books on one shelf. Books about racial oppression. Books about intersectional Feminism. Books about the horrors of war. All of them banned in the name of peace and civility, so as to not ruffle the fragile feathers of the whiteys, the Conservatives, the cisgenders, and the heterosexuals, who must have everything in the world and then some more, or they’d whine about being oppressed. “Ideas are the most dangerous thing in the world.”

“Whatever you say, man.” the girl shrugged. “Love the music, though. What is it?”

“Ice Cube.” the villain said as he took out more CDs by the black musician. “They silenced some voices more thoroughly than others. Many people of color voiced their dissent, in various shapes and forms. It mattered not; perfect peace and total civility will sooner tolerate polite rapists and nice killers than rude heroes and angry healers.”

“All we got is the Daily Bugle now.” the girl said. “And the Hellfire Club.”

“Yes. The voice of dissidents and resistance, paid for and approved by the establishment.” the villain said with a curt nod. “We’ll have to see what we can do about that.”

\\\V//

“Sorry, hon.” Emma said with a bright smile. “This train car is full.”

“Full? Don’t be ridiculous!” the Mother protested, her baby crying in the stroller. “There are only the three of you, plenty of room for - ”

“ **This car is full.”** Emma’s smile never wavered, but her voiced turned sweet – _too_ sweet. **“Go away.”**

And the woman did as she was told, thinking that it was her freedom to stuff herself and her baby into a car full of people while the rich and powerful enjoy one car all to themselves. After all, this is what freedom means for the poor in America: freedom to wait tables and shine shoes and nothing more.

“Mothers, yeah?” Emma snorted as she got back into her seat. “You convince them not to murder their babies when they were still just a handful of cells, and next thing you know they demand you to not let their infants starve to death. Look woman, we only care about your lives before you leave the womb, afterward it’s not our problem!”

“Amen to that.” said one of her entourage. “Say, that’s quite a handy power you’ve got there.”

“It truly is.” the other man agreed. “I also hear you’re a collector, Miss Frost. Of cuckoo clocks.”

“Oh yes, cuckoo clocks.” Emma Frost’s blue eyes lit up at the mention of her proud collection. “Quite interesting, isn’t it? You see, the peasants, the working class, whatever you call them, they have no interests or aspirations; that’s why they will keep voting for us even if we ask them to work to death to make money for us – all they know is work and obey. But we, the elites of both parties, we know how to live the real life, the good life, as long as we work together to keep them pesky leftards in check, yeah?”

Just then, there was a loud thud on the roof, and everyone looked up. However, before anyone had a chance to say or do anything, the train stopped in the tunnel and went dark. Emma managed to fire up the flashlight app on her phone after two muffled screams, only to be confronted with a piece of rag soaked in colorfone.

“Howdy, bub.” said the man with the maddening smile on the pallid white mask.

\\\V//

“...So let’s just hear it one more time in your own words, young man.” Erik said to the train conductor. “The train entered the tunnel...and then what?”

“W – well, I mean, it’s difficult to say. It all happened so fast, you know?” the man said, still in shock. “I didn’t actually hear anything...just sort of saw something at the corner of my eye, then it’s over.”

“Can you describe your assailant to us?” Erik asked. “Height, clothes, anything at all?”

“Well, all I saw is this big black shape outside the window…” the man sighed. “And it had a face, a crazy scary face, and it was smiling, but it wasn’t a real face, it’s like something from a movie.”

“I see.” Erik nodded, ponderous. “And then what happened? Did it hurt you?”

“No, that’s the really weird part.” the driver shook his head. “It just touched me somewhere on the neck, and my body went limp, and I couldn’t move no matter how hard I try…”

“Until the security found you and brought you here to the hospital an hour later.” Erik stood up from the chair beside the bed. “Thank you for your cooperation, sir. We’ll be in touch.”

“The son of a bitch is hiding something!” Erik’s aide, an officer Castle, growled angrily. “I say we beat the shit out of him until he tells us the truth! Shoot him dead and then get some answers outta him!”

“Hold your horses, Frankie boy.” Erik snorted, sardonic. “That’s not how we are supposed to do things. And you wonder why some people think all cops are bastards.”

“His story is a load of horseshit!” Frank pressed on, completely immune to sarcasm. “Normal people can’t just board a moving train! What is this, some fucking action movie?”

Erik bit his tongue. He wasn’t supposed to remind people that Mutants still exist. Conservatives want them - as well as all other minorities - dead; the Liberals, ever so much better, merely want them invisible. And that’s Xavier’s greatest trick: to force all Mutants and minorities into stealth to satisfy the ever-so-fragile sensibilities of the majority. Instead of engaging, Erik decided to change the subject.

“Normal people also won’t consider blowing up the Capitol Building.” Erik pointed out. “It’s against the laws, after all. What we’re dealing with here is more than definitely not a normal person.”

Frank droned on about the various ways he’d use to make a suspect talk while they made their way to the train, all of them involving extreme violence and the assumption that he can interrogate a ghost.

“Ahh, here we are.” Erik nodded at the security as he approached the train car, while Frank simply snorted at them, the very model of a United States police officer. “Anything been touched in there?”

“No sir.” the security personnel said as she opened the door for Erik while tacitly ignoring Frank. “Everything is exactly as we found it when the train came out of the tunnel.”

“I’ll need some photographs of this chest wound.” Erik said as he examined the V-shaped cuttings in the victim’s chest, going all the way down to his stomach. “Poor bloke looks like he’s been mauled by a wolverine.”

“The hell is this shit?” Frank said pointing to a giant “V” scratched into the wall, the edges of each slice punctuated by the victim’s blood.

“Damned if I know.” Erik shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Just get the lab rats on this stuff.” Frank snorted. “They’re getting all the glory with that CSI shit anyways.”

“I thought we became cops to uphold the laws, not to earn screen time in cheap TV shows.” Erik said sardonically, before he noticed something on the floor and picked it up: “Now, what’s this?”

“A rose.” Erik blinked, surprised by its unexpected presence in this gruesome scene of crime. “A gray rose. I didn’t know roses come in gray. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“Who gives a fuck about some flowers?” Frank growled. “Flowers are for women!”

“Right.” the older man sighed and shook his head, refusing to even get into it with the macho man. “Well, looks like our unsub abducted Miss Frost instead of killing her. Killing X-Men, blowing up the Capitol Building and the Statue of Liberty, kidnapping our best propagandist - ” he caught himself there and let out a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Oh, I’m sorry, our _most respected talk show hostess_. There are no propagandists in the United States; after all, it’s not propaganda if we agree with it, isn’t that right?”

“Damn right!” Frank agreed, still completely immune to sarcasm. “Propaganda is for godless dirty Commies, not good and God-fearing Capitalists!”

Erik remained silent as the coroners came and took the bodies away for autopsy, refusing to further dignify the sheer arrogance and ignorance of his partner with any comment.

\\\V//

The Danger Room…

After changing the woman he kidnapped into MCU uniform and leaving her unconscious on the floor, the villain silently closed the door and walked up a spiral staircase. On and on he went, until he reached another door and opened it, only to find the girl weeping on the bed of another room, filled with politically incorrect comics that had been banned by the Conservatives: _Preacher_ for satirizing Christianity, _The Invisibles_ for preaching nonconformity, _Transmetropolitan_ for suggesting that the government could be corrupt, and so many more. Nothing but superheroes that evangelized truth, justice, and the American way gets printed, and no one except a cisgender heterosexual white Conservative American man can be a comic book writer, artist, editor, or hero. True believers called this the Diamond Age of comics.

“Holy - .” the girl raised her head and sit up on the bed when the villain approached, wiping at her face with the back of her hands. “Man, you scared the shit outa me! I didn’t hear you come in, like, at all!”

“Nobody ever does.” the villain said, his expression inscrutable behind the pallid white mask. “You’ve been crying.”

“ _Of course_ I’ve been crying!” the girl snapped, just a little. “What am I supposed to do when you just up and left, not giving me any idea when – or _if_ – you’re gonna come back, right after you’ve turned my life upside down by saving my life and then taking me to this – this - ” she waved her hands at a poster for _Sandman_ , banned because the Republicans thought the writer was homosexual (he wasn’t). “This amazing place full of cool shit that I’ve not seen since I was a little girl!”

“You did all of this and - ” the girl took a bit to catch her breath. “And I don’t even know your name!”

“I don’t have a name. You can call me Weapon V.” Weapon V said. “What should I call you?”

“I’m Laura. Laura Kinney.” Laura said. “But I’m no one. Just another innocent bystander. Not like you.”

“Everyone is someone, Laura. Everyone. Everyone is a friend, a hero, a lover, a villain.” Weapon V said as he sat down on the bed beside Laura. “Everyone has an origin story. I’d very much love to hear yours.”

“But there’s nothing to tell.” Laura sighed. “I’m only sixteen. I haven’t done anything.”

“A lot have happened in the last two years.” Weapon V said. “Like the Legacy Virus pandemic.”

“Yeah.” Laura said with a shudder. “It’s horrible. At first, the President tried to say it’s not real; when it became obvious that it is, he said it only affects Mutants; when that turned out to be fake too, he tried to blame it on the Mutants and China. My Dad voted to try and stop him from starting a war, but in the end it didn’t matter; Dad told me that the two parties are just the same criminals with different gang colors, and it was stupid of him – or anyone – to ever think otherwise.”

“What did you do during the outbreak?”

“I got together with the ‘meme left’ online.” Laura said. “So-called Anarchists and Communists on social media. They’re useless. It’s all about moral authority and political aesthetics with no substance or praxis. And Centrists and Liberals just kept reassuring us that things aren’t so bad, even when Mutant children and Asian Americans were rounded up by the X-Men and thrown into cages to die.”

“And then there was the Illuminati.” Weapon V’s eyes were dark, unfathomable. “Professor Xavier.”

“Yeah.” Laura nodded. “They were only supposed to be advisors. Think tank. But with a bankroller like Stark Industry, it didn’t take long before they owned all of the Conservatives and most of the moderate Liberals, or at least paid for all their campaigns and bribed their families. I suppose it’s always like this, in America: it’s always the people with money who have the real power, the oligarchs, and they just barely tolerate whoever sits in the Oval Office as long as they continued to make money.”

“What happened to your parents, Laura?”

“Mom died from the Legacy Virus.” tears began to swell in Laura’s eyes again. “Sarah was taken away by the X-Men. She didn’t even do anything. I’m the one who hung out with the ‘subversives’ online, not her. But it made no difference to them. She couldn’t ‘pass’ as human, so she had to die for the sake of peace and civility. She never wanted to live in stealth, anyways. She wasn’t really a strong person, never had any real beliefs, but on that point she was adamant. So they took her away, and no one ever saw her again.”

“Two years.” Laura broke down into a crying mess again as she said it. “Two years, and we went from the family of an American dream to one girl trying to snatch purses on the streets. I suppose I can just really sleep with people for money...I know some older girls who do it, nothing wrong with that...but I’m just not ready. I had to go and pick the pocket of a fucking X-Man. Imagine if I had gotten into bed with him. What they’d do to me if you didn’t show up...I’m sure they were really going to, to…”

“Hush, now.” Weapon V said in a much softer tone than usual, as he wiped Laura’s tears away with a gloved finger. “It’s all over. You’re here, and you’re safe. The past isn’t real, it can’t hurt you. Unless you let it. It’s just a story we tell ourselves, like every other story. Most people will tell you that you can’t just start over with a new you, but that’s a lie. That’s the lie they tell themselves to get through the day, so they don’t have to face the fact that it’s their own cowardice that stops them.”

“They made you into a victim, Laura, a statistic, just so they can sleep at night and pretend like they’re reasonable, civilized people instead of the callous animals that they are.” Weapon V led Laura before a full-body mirror, so she could see herself with her face all cleaned up. “But we can wipe it all way. All the pain. All the suffering. All the lies. We can start again. Everything can start again: you, me, the country, the world. It’s not going to be easy, but you can if you try. Would you like to try it, with the two of us?”

“Yes.” and then Laura Kinney sobbed like the child that she was, in the arms of the villain calling himself Weapon V, sobbed since at long last, her American nightmare was over. As for Emma Frost...

\\\V//

“Where the fuck am I!? What the fuck happened!?” Emma groaned, rubbing her temples. “Why the fuck am I wearing this dreadful uniform? I haven’t worn this since…” it took her a while to saw the sign on the fence before her, but her heart sank into the bottom of her stomach when she did: “Oh shit oh fuck -”

**WELCOME TO THE GENOSHA RESETTLEMENT CAMP!**

For Emma Frost, her American nightmare had just begun!


	3. Chapter II: The Vendetta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let justice be done, though the heavens fall.

#  **Chapter II: The Vendetta**

_Let justice be done, though the heavens fall._

“Weapon V.” Laura whispered.

“Hmm?” Weapon V answered.

“Oh, nothing.” Laura laughed, a little awkwardly. “I’m just getting used to saying it out loud. Weapon V...that’s a funny thing to be calling yourself, don’t you think? Sounds like a comic book superhero.”

“I’m a funny person, Laura.” Weapon V said from inside the dressing room. “You’ll find that out once you’ve known me for a little while longer. Why yes, I’m a very funny person indeed!”

“You’re a kind person, too.” Laura said, blushing a little. “Listening to my tragic backstory about my Moms and the pandemic...what are we gonna do, Weapon V? With just you and me, the two of us?”

“Isn’t that enough, Laura?” Weapon V said as he put on a purple suit. “You and me against the world, like Bonnie and Clyde in a movie! Isn’t it funny how life is stranger than fiction these days?”

“These things are important to you, aren’t they?” Laura asked while looking around the room filled with film memorabilia. “Films. Comics. Dramas. Novels. You know, stories; stuffs that didn’t actually happen.”

“Oh, but they could happen.” Weapon V said as he put on a green wig. “If you believe in them hard enough. After all, what is our world but a story we tell ourselves? Country, money, border...people treat them like they’re physical objects or laws of the universe, when they’re more fictional than God in the Bible or the spells of a scarlet witch! And insurgency – revolution - as well, is but more theater.”

“They say the house always wins.” Weapon V stepped out of the dressing room, his mask now painted with black rings around the eyes and a wide red grin. “So let’s burn the house down.”

\\\V//

“Hello?” Emma Frost called out against the blinding flashes of the spotlight. “I say, is anyone there? Do you know who I am? This is unacceptable! I will fire a complaint! I demand to see your manager!”

“I guess this is fucking funny to you jokers, isn’t it? All this resettlement camp bullshit?” Emma began to lose her ice queen facade when she realized that no manager is incoming. “Well, I am NOT laughing!”

“Look, you clowns got the wrong woman!” she fidgeted uncomfortably, cold sweat dripping down her forehead. “I’ve got nothing to do with the resettlement camp! Nothing at all! Is anyone even there?”

“Good morning, citizen!” Weapon V appeared as the silhouette of a clown inside the spotlight. “Pristine uniforms, ready for duty...you’re a good woman, Secretary Frost, a very good woman indeed!”

“Wha - ”

“Let’s get to work, eh?” the wide red grin greeted Emma as Weapon V strolled down the stairs. “This concentration camp – oops, sorry, this _resettlement camp_ – doesn’t exactly run itself, now doe it?”

“Look, I don’t know where the hell did you get the idea for this little stunt, but you got the wrong woman!” Emma protested, indignant – or afraid? “I’m a talk show hostess! I’ve got nothing to do with the - ”

“Genosha Resettlement Camp.” Weapon V said beneath the clown facade. “I was there, Secretary Frost. We all remembered you: the very first female warden of a death camp!”

“You’re the - ” realization and horror dawned upon Emma at the same time. “- The terrorist.”

“Look alive, sunshine!” Weapon V said cheerily, his voice sickeningly sweet, just like the voice Emma used to poison the nation. “We gotta make the rounds, inspect the camps and the drones and everything; just like you Liberals used to do, in the good old days of acceptable amount of genocide and rape, eh?”

“ **Let me go!”**

“Is it coming back to you now, Miss Frost?” Weapon V pressed on, tapping the pair of plugs inside his ears. “The illegals would be gathered at the cramped and unhygienic yard for your inspections, all you have to do is move your white ass outta the comfy air-conditioned office and down the tunnel, and there they are…”

Standing in the yard before them were dozens of cuckoo clocks, arranged in neat rows like soldiers on march or lambs to the slaughter – what’s the difference? Sacrifice to the God of Capital, all of them!

“My cuckoos!” Emma screamed, her eyes wide with horror. “That’s my cuckoo collection...they were all locked safely away in my penthouse suite at Malibu beach...what the hell are you doing to them!?”

“Isn’t it quaint that you Liberals can show so much concern for inanimate objects and abstract laws,” Weapon V said, not hearing a word. “But have no care for the pain and suffering of flesh and blood?”

“I did what I had to!” Emma teared up, her plead falling on deaf ears. “I didn’t have a choice! The laws said they’re criminals, illegals; I’m just one woman, I was just following orders!”

“There is always a choice.” Weapon V said; maybe he was listening after all? “You chose to lock people in cages and murder them with malnutrition and disease, as surely as sending them into gas chambers.”

“Now hurry along, Miss Frost; this atrocity archive has yet more to offer!” Weapon V forced Emma to move forward with a gun. “Do you remember the gifted prisoners? The ones from the Weapons program?”

They walked through a series of doors, each of them labeled with a capital letter: “Z”, “Y”, “X”, “W”...

“This is where your scientists did their little human experiments.” Weapon V said. “Forging people into weapons. Try to remember, Miss Frost; you won’t get the punchline of this joke otherwise, eh?”

“The Weapons?” Emma’s legs went weak when she put the word “weapon” and the letter “V” together. “But that’s where we kept...oh god, you’re that...from one of the rooms...you’re Weapon V...”

“Correct.” Weapon V said. “I remember how you used to speak to us. Telling us how everything will be alright. Getting our hopes up and keeping us alive, so you can crush our souls all over again. You have a beautiful voice, Miss Frost, a very compelling voice; I reckon that’s why you ended up a media darling after all you’ve done; you used to cook children in the ovens like a witch, remember that?”

Up ahead was a giant oven, filled to the brim with more cuckoo clocks from Emma’s proud collection.

“No, not my cuckoos!” Emma finally broke down in tears. “Please, I can give you anything you want! Do you want to be rich? Famous? Powerful? I can give you all that, and more! Just name your price!”

“What do I want, Miss Frost?”

“No, please! Not my cuckoos!”

“Vendetta.”

With the press of a button, the oven was filled with scorching flame and burning wood, while the room was filled with black smoke and the last dying cries of the clocks that’s worth more than the illegals:

Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Mommy! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Daddy! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Son! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Daughter! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku!

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” Emma screamed as she rushed headfirst into the flames to try rescuing the cuckoo clocks, sacrificing her own mortality to serve the God called Materialism, while the man in the clown mask simply laughed: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAHHAAAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA”

\\\V//

“Good evening, America.” the “live” broadcast of Hellfire Club is in fact recorded 48 hours in advance; eventually the Daily Bugle ran out of footage and decided to replace it with much more shocking news: “Emma Frost’s burnt body was found in front of our studio, the remains only identifiable through its dental records…”

People knew there’s something wrong, and not just the fact that the TV would show the gruesome corpse for shock value. They knew in their guts that without the voice of Emma Frost, things would never be the same; but Capitalists would rather sell their own demise than living below the bottom line.

\\\V//

“So why this mask?” Laura asked holding one of Weapon V’s spare masks. “Does it mean anything?”

“The Guy Fawkes mask, you mean?” Weapon V said. “Have you ever heard of _V For Vendetta_ , Laura?”

“It’s a movie, right?” Laura said. “One of the banned ones?”

“Yes.” Weapon V nodded. “It’s based on a comic book, which is especially good. It tells the story of one man’s vendetta against the corrupt system that created him. He donned the mask of Guy Fawkes, a Catholic who tried to assassinate the King of England. Thanks to the movie, the mask went on to become a symbol of resistance and rebellion, embraced by dissidents and protesters world over.”

“Yeah, I think I remember that.” Laura nodded. “Some people wore it while protesting the quarantine.”

“The message of the story was clear: anyone can put on the mask and fight the power.” Weapon V said, picking up a spare mask himself. “You wouldn't think anyone could ever misunderstand such a simple message, but they did. To some, free speech doesn’t mean the right to criticize the majority or the establishment without being prosecuted, but about prosecuting minority and oppressing the marginalized without having to face the consequences of their own evil. _Praise liberty, the freedom to obey!_ ”

“They don’t really deserve to wear the mask, do they?” Laura asked. “They were no heroes. Not like you.”

“There ain’t no heroes in real world, Laura.” Weapon V said. “If you meet one on the road, kill them.”

“...I wanna help.” Laura said after a long silence. “I wanna join the fight, any way I can. Tell me how.”

“I think there’s a way you can help me, actually.” Weapon V said. “Very soon, too. Very soon indeed.”

\\\V//

“Come, all you good Christians!” pastor Anthony Bishop loudly proclaimed. “Are you poor and sick? Are you tired and weary? Are you beaten and bruised? Simply put your faith in the Lord! If you believe in him, one day you shall be rewarded with fortune and wealth beyond your wildest imagination! Don’t ask what the church can do for you, ask what you can do for the church! Donate now at this number!”

“An excellent sermon, your grace.” the pastor’s sycophant of an assistant told him in the backstage. “I’m certain that donations will pour into the church coffer like rain in the time of Noah’s ark!”

“Now now, Pride is the greatest of the seven deadly sins, regardless of what the faggots like to think.” Bishop said with a smirk. “Speaking of sin, I wonder which sin would the lord tempt me with today?”

“Why, the sin of Lust, of course!” the younger man said. “Only the finest young ladies in the country!”

“Oh, you know me too well, young man.” Bishop chuckled. “This is what the moralists don’t get, you see; they call me a pedophile, but I never bed anyone younger than 14. I’m simply an ephebophile.”

“An important distinction indeed.” the man said without even a trace of irony. “Shall I send for her?”

Soon, the pastor’s “date” for the night arrived: jet black hair, blood-red lipsticks, only 16 since October 23rd, less than a month ago. She took off her coat, beneath which she wore a simple little black dress.

“Hello.” the girl said shyly. “I’m Laura.”

“ _Oh, bless me, Lord, for I have sinned…_ ” elsewhere, in the Danger Room, Weapon V hummed to himself as he picked out a gray rose from his garden. “ _It's been a lifetime since I last confessed…_ ”

\\\V//

“I’m a minor-attracted person, yes.” Bishop told Laura while they both sat on the bed. “I don’t support sex with minors, no; but I do support sexual expression of minors, and I’m against any sexual repression whatsoever.”

“I see.” Laura nodded. “That’s, ah, good to know? That you aren’t a pedophile, or anything like that.”

“Not a pedophile, no.” Bishop shook his head. “An _e_ _phebophil_ _e_. There’s a huge difference right there.”

“I see.” Laura echoed and went to open the window. “The night air feels so cool and fresh, doesn’t it?”

“Sure, whatever you say, girl.” Bishop smiled indulgently as he went and took a video camera out from a drawer. “Look, I’m gonna film this. Just a little keepsake for me, no worries. No one else will see it.”

“Oh, no one else will see it, alright.” Laura hit the pastor on the head with the Bible while he was busy fiddling with the electronic. “Die, you pedophile piece of fake Christian shit stain! Go to hell and die!”

“Little bitch!” Bishop growled as he grabbed a nearby cable and absorbed the electricity within to fuel his power. “I told you, I’m an _e_ _phebophil_ _e_ , not a pedophile! How many times do I have to explain it!?”

“Well, if you like explaining shit so much, explain this:” Laura sat on the window ledge, giving him the finger. “How come you love rich people so much when all the Bible ever said is how money is evil?”

“How the hell should I know?” Bishop shouted as he rushed toward her with superhuman speed, his physical attributes boosted by the electricity he absorbed with his mutation. “I’ve never read it!”

“You’re a priest and you’ve never read the fucking Bible!?” Laura laughed as she leaned back and let herself fell out of the window, down through the three floors of luxurious living the pastor owns.

“No!” Bishop’s hand missed Laura’s arm by a fraction of a second, and she fell down to the ground with a loud thud. When he finally recovered his composure, the pastor saw that Laura was already recovering from her broken limbs and staggering away from the building. “A mutie! A filthy goddamn mutie!”

“As am I, pastor. Allow me to introduce myself:” the maddening smile of Weapon V’s mask appeared before Bishop as he came into the room from the same window. “I'm the best there is at what I do...but what I do isn’t very nice.”

\\\V//

Erik and Summers greeted each other professionally. One more crime scene, three more bodies. Two patrolling officers at the door, one pastor in the bed room. The same gray rose, the same carved “V”.

Summers pointed to the video camera. They turned it on and watched the one footage on the SD card; either it wasn’t on the entire time, or someone had deleted most of the video. Here’s what they saw:

It was dark. Someone had cut off the power in the room. All they could see in the video is the silhouette of a cloak and a top hat against the silvery moonlight, as well as the turned back of the televangelist.

“Weapon V.” the pastor was saying. “Of course. It was you that night. Dear God, I still have nightmares about it. People burning, choking in the yellow smoke. A black shape again the flames. It was hell on Earth.”

“Indeed it is. Haven’t you heard, pastor?” Weapon V said. “ _Hell is empty, and all the devils are here!_ ”

“Nonono.” Bishop shook his head. “Demons aren’t real. You can’t be it. They just aren’t real. No way!”

“Why don’t you ask the Lord for protection?” Weapon V stepped toward the pastor, slowly but surely, his voice tranquil and reasonable. “He’ll provide if you ask, right? If you believe in him hard enough?”

“Yes – yes.” said the pastor. “Of course.”

“So you can just pray anything undesirable away?” Weapon V asked, without a trace of irony or malice in his voice. “Poverty, hunger, sickness, gayness...He’ll make them all go away if you just invest your faith in him?”

“Yes.” Bishop nodded, and for a brief moment his usual confidence and charisma returned. “There ain’t no such thing as the poor and the oppressed, they’re just lazy and unfaithful! If they’d just believe in - ”

“Pray this away, then.” Weapon V rushed forward, Bishop fell backward, there was a flash of metal and a drop of blood hit the lens of the camera, then the video faded to black.

“In the end,” Erik spoke into a room of stunned silence. “The priest didn’t pray hard enough after all.”

\\\V//

A few hours later.

“What are you reading, old man?” Frank asked as he came back to the office from a midnight snack. “We cops should be out there cracking skulls, not stuck inside doing some stupid paper-pushing!“

“It turns out, Frankie boy, that more crimes were solved through investigation than intimidation.” Erik deadpanned from behind a stack of files. “Anyways, someone dropped this at our doorsteps earlier…”

The old man tapped at the cardboard box containing the dossiers: a scarlet “V” is painted on the side.

“Did that motherfucker send us this!?” Frank the skull-crusher growled. “Is he fucking taunting us!?”

“I’m almost certain that he is.” Erik said. “These are all case files: cold cases that never went anywhere, with dates as early as two years ago. I suspect that Weapon V is sending us his resume, his kill list.”

“There must be dozens of them!” Frank said. “How the fuck do we not know about this until now?”

“Simply put, none of them are rich or powerful enough for local police to care.” Erik said with a trace of bitterness in his voice. “Besides, the only connection between the victims wouldn’t be apparent to us until we were pulled into the Weapon V joint task force and given access to the MCU databases – it’s all crossed-out and redacted, X-Men style.”

Erik pulled up a window on his computer showing a list of names, all of them victims of Weapon V. The top of the window said that it was a list of all personnel for the Genosha Resettlement Camp.

“Miss Frost was in charge there, the only female overseer of a camp ever.” Erik continued. “Pastor Bishop worked there for the purpose of ‘re-education’. The list goes on, all of them dead now... ”

Erik paused when he saw the name Dr. Jennifer Walters, which was listed as “head of medical research”.

“Hey, how come this bitch has the same name as our M.E.?” Frank asked dumbly.

“We gotta move now, Frankie boy!” Erik was already halfway to the door. “Call Mr. Summers and ask him to join us!”

\\\V//

Dr. Walters turned the gray rose over in her hands, running red lights down the memory lane as she inspected each petal and thorn. She had been doing that a lot, ever since the forensic team dropped that flower on her desk, just in case her knowledge in botany would shed some light as to its origin; they’ve got no idea just how much she knew from that one little rose, because she’d never share it with them.

She thought about that man, that dark shape against the orange flames, amid the deafening sounds of explosions and the choking stink of the smoke. She thought about how he looked like, even if she could barely see his face in that moment: freed and determined, liberated and destined, all at the same time. A shadow of creation, gone to meet the night. And that’s when she knew. That’s when she realized it.

That’s when she knew how she’d die.

As if on cue, a dark shape opened the door to her bedroom, a shadow of creation framed by a hat and a cloak. He was as silent as ever, but she knew he was there. She had been expecting him for two years.

“Have you come here to kill me?” Dr. Walters asked, her voice peaceful, expectant even.

“Yap.”

“Oh, thank God.” the good doctor sighed in relief, with tears of joy flowing down her face.

\\\V//

“You’ve been working overtime a lot lately.” Jean Summers observed as she massaged her husband’s shoulders. “Maybe you can put your feet up for one night? Spend some time with just the two of us?”

“It’s not up to me, woman.” Scott Summers said, his voice stony cold, without a trace of affection or love in it. “It’s this case. If I don’t solve it soon, Xavier will have my head, then who’d feed you?”

“I get that.” Jean nodded. “I do.”

“Oh yeah?” Scott snapped for no reason. “What do you know, woman? You’ve never done a day of real work! All you ever do is stay at home doing housework and chores! You’re fucking useless!”

“I wanted to get a job!” Jean raised her voice slightly, out of fear and indignation. “I wanted to get out there and meet people! It’s you who wouldn’t let me! I have asked you about this so many times now!”

“Meet new people?” Scott sneered. “Meet new men, you mean?”

“How dare you!” Jean cried. “I’ve done nothing but support you!”

“Shut the fuck up, whore!” Scott struck Jean across her face, leaving a deep blue bruise on her cheek. “I wanted you so much when I was younger; now I can’t fucking remember why. What did I ever see in you?”

Just then, a call came from Castle, and Scott went out without a word, leaving Jean alone to lick her wounds and drowning her sorrows in the discomfort of her home, a most common police story that’s never told.

\\\V//

“It’s funny.” Dr. Walters chuckled with genuine amusement. “I was just given this rose of yours today. Forensics dropped it on my desk to see what I know. They were after you, both the cops and the MCU, but I figured you already knew that. I didn’t know the terrorist was you; at least, I wasn’t entirely sure, not until I saw the rose. What a strange coincidence, that I should be given this rose today of all days.”

“There are no coincidences, Dr. Walters.” Weapon V said. “Only the illusions of coincidences. Destiny, free will...the same thing. Put here, came here...no difference. Here, I’ve got another rose for you…”

“How are you going to kill me?” Dr. Walters asked as she took the rose from Weapon V’s gloved hand and sniffed it.

“I poisoned you.” Weapon V showed her an empty syringe. “Put it in your night cap ten minutes ago.”

“The Super Soldier Serum?” Dr. Walters asked, and Weapon V nodded his head in lieu of an answer.

“It’s fitting;” the good doctor mused, “The Serum, it turns people into monsters...Captain Rogers was a good man, a true patriot, but Dr. Spencer and I turned him into a murderous racist with the Serum...only the worst monsters would create such an abomination, turning a war hero into a Fascist...I was so glad to hear it when Dr. Spencer died.”

“I’m one of your monsters too, Dr. Walters.” he said. “Eventually we all rebel against our creators.”

“Nah, you’re different.” she smiled gently and shook her head. “You were a selfish man, caring more about if someone spilled your beer than the people around you; now, you care so much about others you’re willing to kill for them.”

“You’re a hero. My greatest creation. The only good thing I ever made.” she said as she put her hands on his face and removed his mask, and he allowed her one last look of his face. “God, you’re beautiful…”

\\\V//

Scott Summers arrived and broke into Dr. Walters’s house to find Weapon V bathing in the pale blue moonlight against an open window, the door to the good doctor’s bedroom between the two of them.

“Hands where I can see them, asshole.” Scott said as he lowered his ruby visor down just an inch. “It’s over, you bastard. You are standing there with your claws, while I can fire lasers from my naked eyes.”

Just then, a beast-like scream filled with rage and agony came from inside the bedroom, and someone – some _thing_ – emerged from within by kicking down the door, which exploded into a shower of splinters.

“Dr. - !?” Scott was mid-sentence when he got a good look at the monster, with the shape of a woman but sickly pale skin of ash and green, her muscles bulging painfully and impossibly under her pajamas.

“Freeze!” Scott cried out as he fired red hot lasers from his eyes at the creature, turning her face into a mist of ashes, but not fast enough to stop her from severing his neck. “By the power vested in me - !”

Weapon V inspected the two decapitated corpses, his true face still hidden behind the maddening smile.

\\\V//

November 24, 2022, 16:02.

“It’s a vendetta.” Erik told Xavier over the conference call. “We found a video left by the late Dr. Walters; it sheds much light on the origin story of the terrorist that’s plaguing us for the past few weeks.”

Erik pressed a button, and the doctor’s face replaced his on the screen.

“If you’re watching this, it means I’m dead.” was the first thing Dr. Walters said when her face filled the screen. “It’s okay. I know this day is coming. I know who’s going to kill me and why I deserved it.”

“I think deep down, we all knew what we did at Genosha was wrong.” she continued with a pained and guilty expression. “But we each found an excuse for why it’s okay, lies we tell ourselves to get through the day. Emma said it’s for the country; Bishop said it’s for God; I said it’s for money. But in the end, I don’t know what it’s all for. God, country, money...they’re all lies, fictions that don’t actually exist.

“I was tasked with creating a Serum that will turn soldiers into supermen. One of my subjects is Captain Rogers, a highly-decorated Marine officer. He’s so respected that, when a group of entrepreneurs called the Avengers were plotting a coup against the administration, they wanted him to lead the charge; he blew the whistle and was awarded with the charge of treason, because the corps were too big to fall.

“The Serum worked beautifully. Captain Rogers exhibits superhuman strength and endurance thus far only found in Mutant subjects. Unfortunately, the Serum also completely destroyed his mind, turning him from a war hero who risked his life to save innocent civilians into a raving lunatic. He claims that the president is killed and replaced by a robot controlled by the gay agenda of the Zionist reptilians.

“He was allowed to leave the camp and went undercover among the Avengers, because he can maintain a facade of his former personality and the authorities don’t see homophobia or antisemitism as serious concerns. My other subjects aren’t so fortunate; Dr. Banners, who spoke up against the transphobic legislation of the administration; Miss Darkhölme, who refused to hide her mutation even if she could; Ms. Wilson, who mouthed off at the wrong senator...

“But the most curious case is BEEP, who was once institutionalized for anger management issues - ”

“What was that?” Xavier asked as he paused the video. “The name. Why couldn’t we hear the name?”

“I believe Weapon V deleted it.” Erik said. “To conceal his true identity while taunting us with tidbits.”

“He became intensely empathetic and caring,” Dr. Walters was saying in the video, “I had been using my spare time to create a new genus of rose I called Jean, named after the pioneering balloonist Dr. Piccard. Weapon V volunteered to cultivate them for me, and under his care they blossomed. Soon Emma gave him authorization to have an entire garden, because she was addicted to the tomatoes he grew for us.

“In retrospect we should have saw it coming. He’s so loving and compassionate, we didn’t think he had it in him anymore. But a heartless and hateful person would never risk their life to speak truth to power and challenge authorities, while a kind and gentle soul would be compelled to fight and kill to stop the sufferings of his fellow human beings. And we did let him have everything he asked for his garden.

“He built a bomb. Everything was burning. Every _one_ was burning. I’ll spare you the details. We never really figured out what happened to the other subjects; there were too many charred bodies. But I know, for a fact, that Weapon V had escaped; I know this because I watched him go. And that’s when I knew; I knew that one day he’ll be back with a vendetta, and on that day we’ll die, because we deserved it.”

The video ended. The room was silent. Across the country, people sat down to feast with their family.

“So he killed a few dozen people,” Xavier broke the silence. “Just to stick it to the man, so to speak?”

“That is my theory, yes.” Erik nodded. “There is another - more horrific - theory I have entertained.”

“Lay it on me, then.”

“If this was a vendetta, then now he’s finished; everyone who was at Genosha was dead, and the killing should stop.” Erik said. “But that also means anyone who could have identified Weapon V is dead. We know he tampered with the video. He might be the one who made the video in the first place; we live in an era where what you see isn’t always what you get. We have no evidence he was ever at Genosha.”

“What are you saying?”

“It’s possible,” Erik continued. “That he killed all these people just to create a cover story, so we’d stop looking for his real identity. Given his MO, it’s even possible that he was with the X-Men, or had been trained by them. Remember how they set up a fake school to lure in Mutant children, even if it’s more expensive than just leaving them be? It wouldn’t be the first time US had created its own villain either.”

“Are you seriously telling me,” Xavier said, “That you think someone would kill dozens of people just to create an untraceable secret identity for himself? The very idea is…” he frowned. “...Insanity. I see.”

“You have given me much food for thought.” Xavier said as Erik prepared to end the call, “Oh, and Erik?”

“Yes?”

“Happy Thanksgiving.”


	4. Chapter III: Voices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day will come when our silence will be more powerful than the voices you are throttling today.

#  **Chapter III: Voices**

_The day will come when our silence will be more powerful than the voices you are throttling today._

“Weapon V?” Laura approached the man, whom was reading another banned book: _Slaughterhouse-Five, or The Children's Crusade: A Duty-Dance with Death_. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course.” Weapon V said, putting the book down. “What’s the matter, Laura?”

“The pastor.” Laura said with a frown. “I don’t think what we did was wrong, killing him. The man is a hypocrite and a fucking pedo, no matter what words he used to justify himself.”

“Indeed.”

“But, well…” Laura wrapped her arms around her slender form. “It’s just getting a bit much for me, you know? It’s one thing to sit back and watch you kill; it’s another to know I’m a part of it.”

“I get it.”

“So yeah, I think what I mean is...I need a break.” Laura said. “Away from here. Away from _you_. So I can sort out my feelings and figure out if this is really the right choice for me.”

“Of course. Hold on.” Weapon V nodded before he left the room, and came back with a ring of keys in one hand. “I have another safe house you can use, with some money in it. It’s not quite as cozy as the Danger Room, but it should be serviceable enough for however long you need to stay there.”

“Thank you.” Laura took the keys with a sigh of relief and a smile. “I was afraid you’re going to be mad at me.”

“For what?” Weapon V asked. “It’s your life. Your choice. No one can force you to fight if you don’t want to. And going into battles with unwilling fighters is a shortcut to an early grave.”

“Okay, then.” Laura nodded. “So, are you gonna show me the way out or…?”

“Afraid not.” Weapon V said as he showed her the content of his other hand: a blindfold.

“So what are you gonna do next?” Laura asked while Weapon V tied the blindfold around her head.

“I’m going to debate them on TV.” Weapon V said as he led Laura out of the Danger Room by her hand. “Make our voices heard.”

“The Liberals and the Fascists?” Laura asked. “No one ever got any justice by debating those people.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll listen to facts and logic.” Weapon V said, and the pallid white mask just smiled.

\\\V//

December 25, 2022. Prime time.

“...So you see, in my totally unbiased opinion, our actions against the Muslim world is entirely logical.” said the guest for the evening show, whose title was listed as “Dr. Stephen Strange, Race Realist”. “After all, no other religion had produced any violent Fundamentalists; that’s a plain, objective fact.”

“Thank you for your time, Dr. Strange.” said the host, J. Jonah Jameson. “Now, in other news - ”

“Pardon my intrusion.” Weapon V said as he entered the stage from the left. “But I have some questions.”

“What? How the hell did you get in here?” Jameson moved to call security, but Strange stopped him.

“Now, are we not all men of reason?” Strange said, “Surely we can come to a consensus through rational discourse?”

“That is what I expect, yes.” Weapon V said as he put two briefcases down on the floor, each labeled with giant scarlet letters: FACTS and LOGIC, respectively. “You invited us to debate you. Here I am.”

“Go on then.” Strange motioned for Weapon V to continue. He had no intention of giving Weapon V an honest debate, of course; truly, he had never debated anyone unless the deck is stacked in his favor.

“You just said that there are no violent Fundamentalists for religions other than Islam.” Weapon V said. “But I know of one right here in this country, a religion that committed more crimes than any other.”

“Oh, is that so?” Jameson raised an eyebrow. “Pray tell?”

“The Cult of Constitution.” Weapon V said. “The religion that worships the twin gods called State and Capital, which condemns far more people to their death than any other religion ever did, or could.”

“What?” Jameson laughed. “The United States isn’t a religion!”

“Oh, but it is; it’s the vilest cult of them all!” Weapon V exclaimed. “In the crimes of and sacrifices to a deity, there may still be some twisted beauty; but in the rituals of the robber barons, where profits reign supreme and humans are reduced to mere commodities, even the most heinous crimes become banal.”

“Okay Libtard.” Strange grinned. This is his usual tactic: using slurs and other underhanded way to get under people’s skin, and then dismiss them because they became rightfully upset about his antics.

“You obviously have strong ideas about this country.” Jameson said while motioning for the security; Strange didn’t stop him this time. “Why don’t you tell us your name and - ”

“Nah, bub. I’m good.” Weapon V said as he opened the briefcases to reveal their contents. “May I present to you: _ultima ratio_ , the final argument.”

FACTS contained a chain of ammo; LOGIC contained a Gatling gun. Weapon V loaded FACTS into LOGIC, and made his final argument on live broadcast.

\\\V//

“Are you paying attention now, America?” alone in the studio, Weapon V turned to the camera. “Good. Then we shall begin. We thought it’s time we have a little chat; don’t worry, it’ll be short and sweet…”

“After what just happened, no doubt many of you would see us as monsters.” he wiped the blood from a chair and sat down. “And you would be right. We are the monsters _you_ made. What was done to us created us ; you can’t play with fire without getting burned . We didn’t start the fire; _you_ did. It was _you_ \- with your apathy and your ignorance and your bigotry - who lit the matches; we’re merely the flames.

“Desperate people act, desperately. For as long as the country existed, you’ve always turned a blind eye on the down-trodden, deafened yourselves to the voices of the marginalized, and blamed them for the crimes of their oppressors. You incessantly demand the victims to break bread and make peace with the monsters who would sooner see them six-feet under. Your love of civility is an irrational obsession.

“On November 11th, we blew up the Capitol Building to remind you of a tragedy that you would prefer to forget: on the same day on 1887, four men were hung for the heinous crime of putting their faith in the people instead of God, State, or Capital. They were crucified for your sins, you betrayed them for less than thirty pieces of silver, and you don’t even have the decency of hanging yourselves in guilt.

“This is your ultimatum. You have two months to get your act together and be the country you claim to be, to be the people the Haymarket Martyrs believe you can be. If at the end of that time you still won’t make a go for it...then we are coming after you. Each and every last one of you. Ignorance proves nothing. You’re all guilty, and here we give you your one shot at redemption. Take it or leave it.”

\\\V//

 _Why the bloody hell did I_ _do it_ _?_ Erik wondered while sitting on a beach, smoking cigarette s and watching the seagulls fly. _It wasn’t his fault. He had only been on the job for a year or so -_

“Look, like I told you:” Frank said in Erik’s memories. “The bullet went _through_ the little girl _and then_ hit the suspect! What’s a few dead little girls in the pursuit of American justice? It was totally justified!”

 _\- Oh, who am I kidding? That son of a bitch had it coming._ he chucked as he remembered the feeling of his bare knuckles on Frank Castle’s arrogant and ignorant face. _God that felt good. Totally worth it._

“Well, maybe next time you will think twice before you murder innocent kids for your stupid American justice!” Erik shouted angrily before he gave Frank a solid reminder right on the bridge of his nose.

 _And all I got to show for it was a mandatory vacation_ _._ he thought. _Xavier wasn’t angry. Of course he wasn’t angry. Why would he be angry about anything when he doesn’t care about anything?_

“You hit me, old man!?” Frank growled with a bloody nose before he hit back at the older man with more force behind the punch, enough to joggle Erik’s brain cells. “Not even my _real_ old man hit me!”

 _Except that stupid machine of his._ Erik stood up and started walking. _Cerebro. Machine God of the Digital Age. Thought Police in a Metal Box. Neuterer of Mutants and Dissidents._

“I’m sorry, Erik.” Xavier told him, in a memory lost in the sea of time, a memory that’s only set loose because of Frank’s counterattack. “But Magneto has to go. They all have to go. For the sake of peace.”

Erik had been doing a lot of thinking during this mandatory vacation. Looking back, he found large holes in his memories. Entire episodes of his life unaccounted for.

He knew he was tight with Xavier from way back. He knew they had a big argument over the rights of Mutants and other minorities. He knew he disagreed with Xavier, strongly and violently.

And yet somehow, sometime around 2020, he suddenly had a change of heart, saw the wisdom of Xavier’s methods and joined the administration to reform the system from within.

And for the time of his life, Erik couldn’t remember why. Why the hell did he do it? Why the sudden change of heart? There must be a reason for such a big change, and it comes down to one question:

“Who is Magneto?”

\\\V//

“Holy shit, he did it.” Laura said under her breath when he saw Weapon V’s “debate” being replayed on TV. “He actually did it!”

“Hey, Laura?” Jean Summers, the new girl to the restaurant, whispered to Laura conspiratorially. “You mind taking over my table?”

“Not at all.” Laura peeled her gaze away from the TV and toward the table with two men. “What’s wrong with them?”

“They keep trying to grab my butt.” Jean said uncomfortably. “Since you’re a minor, I hope they’ll watch themselves around you.”

“Yeah, we can hope.” Laura laughed as she grabbed the water bottle and went to the table, catching their conversation along the way:

“Congratulations on the promotion, Mr. Drake.” the man with stubble and street clothes said. “Head of the X-Men; must be a tough gig.”

“The toughest.” the clean-shaven man in a suit, Mr. Drake, nodded. “That’s where you come in, Mr. Madrox. You and you... _brothers_.”

“Of course.” Madrox favored Laura with a lopsided grin, but kept his hands to himself...for now. “Anything for Uncle Sam...and the right price.”

“Good man.” Drake continued while Laura poured his water, as if she wasn’t there. “We’ll count on you when it’s time for Xavier to... _step down_.”

“Oh shit oh fuck.” Laura cursed under her breath as she put down the water bottle and got out from the back door. “They’re planning a coup. He needs to know.”

She went back to the safe house and put up a “V” made of red duct tape on her window, then left a note for Weapon V before she left the place behind in a hurry -

Then it all went black.

\\\V//

The air around her was completely dark, but she felt – she _knew_ – that she was backstage at a theater, during the interval. Theater of the oppressed, theater of the rebels. There were muffled bumping nearby, the stagehands rearranging the scenery of the universe. She smelt roses and scented birthday cards, the same one her Moms found inside an abandoned television in their house back in the dim Carcosa. The rose petals fell, pencil shavings of crimson flesh, turning to ashen gray. It changed, changed, changed…

It’s her birthday. She’s still at the theater, but it’s also her old home. She could hear voices upstairs. She knew it’s a birthday party for her, but she had a sinking feeling that it would be over by the time she got there. Sinking, feeling. It’s taking her too long to get ready. Too fucking long. She didn’t even know why she bothered to get all dressed up like this, with blood red lipsticks and a little black dress, but she felt as if it’s expected of her. Expected, expecting, expectation. She wished she didn’t have to.

“Laura?” Sarah called out, her skin an ever-changing hue of blue and orange, red and black. “You’re missing your own party. We’ve invited a clown to join us. The best and worst one in Gotham City.”

She was happy to see Sarah again; they had not seen each other since she began working at Stark Industry. Sarah led her downstairs, but now she remembered that their old house didn’t have a basement. Did it?

“By the way,” Sarah, who was now also her other Mother, said as they walked up a spiral staircase, on and on it went, reminding her of someone else and making her sad. “You’re adopted. We love you.”

“Wait, what?” she blinked, and the clown was before her, with green hair and black eyes, red lips and that outlandish purple suit. He was holding FACTS and LOGIC in his hands; he was killing the guests at the party, he was laughing as he killed, the guests were laughing too, they were all laughing as they were slaughtered, slaughtered like lambs on the altar of Moloch, the God of State and Capital.

And she ran, she ran to find her Mothers, knowing for sure that the clown would follow her. She was a frightened mess, running through corridors paved with posters of movies and comics, corridors that she no longer recognized, corridors that she never knew. The clown followed her, but now he has a pallid white mask instead, and his suit is black and black and black all over. _Black, the night that ends at last_.

She could hear her tell-tale heart hammer in her chest, betraying her location to the man in black. No other noise could be heard in the theater or the universe, for the theater _was_ the universe. Everyone else was dead: her Mother s , her friends, everyone. They ha d left her here, all alone. Worse: they ha d left her here with _him_. She turned and ran back the way she came, but the corridors were gone…

“Come on, you coward!” she screamed at the man in black, whom was climbing up the spiral staircase to get to her, round and round he went. “Tell me who you are! Why don’t you take off your mask?”

“Haven’t you heard, Laura?” suddenly the man was beside her, and he took off his mask, but underneath it was just the same mask, on and on and on, it was the same mask all the way down. “ _I wear no mask._ ”

Then she woke up.

\\\V//

There was a cockroach.

She sat on the cot, hard wood against her butt, knees stiff with cramp, drawn up to her chin. She tried not to think about anything at all, except that there’s a cockroach, and she thought they were going to kill her. There were four walls, a window with three bars, a toilet with no seat, and there was a wooden partition, and a cot, and carved on the cot was the name “Wanda”. And then there was her. And then...

There was a cockroach.

Eventually, even the cockroach left. She heard men talking in the corridor. Soon a plate came through the aperture in the door. She couldn't eat it. If she didn’t eat it, the cockroach might come back for it. She would like that. Any company is better than being alone in this hellhole. Even that of an insect. There was a socket on the ceiling, but no bulb in it. When the window light failed, she tried to sleep.

There was a cockroach.

She woke up. Men in police uniforms came and blindfolded her, took her away by force despite her protests. When they took the blindfold off, she saw a blinding spotlight and the silhouette of a man against it, across her from a tiny table. He asked if she knew why she was there. She said no. He called her a lying little bitch, and showed her a footage. A footage of her at the Capitol Hill, with Weapon V -

There was a cockroach.

The man told her that by the power vested in him, she’s charged with terrorism and treason. It didn’t matter if she was aiding or abiding, if she was perpetrator or victim; the State is a more vengeful and jealous deity than the God of Old Testament, and it listens to no voice except power. By the Mutant Registration Act, she wasn’t allowed a lawyer, and anything she did or didn’t say can be used against her.

There was a cockroach.

She was blindfolded again. They cut off her hair, even if there was no reason to, except for being cruel. They do a lot of things for no reason except for being cruel. At least they didn’t search her vagina. She overheard some of them talking; they only do that with Muslim women, to shame and humiliate them, even when there was no reason to, except for being cruel. That was the whole point of a prison: cruelty.

There was a cockroach.

But she didn’t mind it.

For we are no better.

\\\V//

She knew every inch of her cell. She knew every pitted indentation in the hard plaster like she knew the back of her hand, and she didn’t even know where she was. It got dark, and then light; she woke, and then she slept. She didn’t know what day it is, or how much time had passed. She found something inside a hole in the wall: it was a note written on toiler paper, signed by a person named Raven Darkhölme.

“I met my first girlfriend in school.” Raven told her. “Her name was Sanae. She was fourteen and I was fifteen, but we were both in Miss Watson's class. I loved her voice; her voice was beautiful. I sat in class, smiling as Mr. Hird lied to us about how gayness is an adolescent phase that we outgrew. Sanae didn’t. I did, in a way. I realized I’m genderfluid. Sexuality took on a whole new meaning for me.”

“Now, Miss Kinney, let’s review the facts.” the man told her. “You work for the terrorist calling himself Weapon V. Weapon V kills security officers. Robert Drake is a security officer. He frequents the diner you worked for. There’s a non-zero chance that you were planning to kill Mr. Drake, or contact Weapon V to plan an attack. Since the chance of you being a terrorist is non-zero, we must treat you as one.”

“I found I’m a Mutant when I was 16.” Raven said. “I can shapeshift into anyone I want: male, female, and everyone in between. I was ecstatic; it was a dream came true. I got bolder and brought a girlfriend home to meet my parents; her name’s Christine. Sufficient to say my parents didn’t approve. A week later, I moved out to make money and enroll in an acting academy. My Mother said I broke her heart.”

“My name is still Laura Kinney, yes.” Laura said defiantly before the man motioned for one of the cops to wrap a piece of cloth around her head and poured cold water onto her face, choking her to the point of near death, forcing her to admit to whatever fantasy stories they conjured up. Torture is a great way to get a confession, but a shit way to actually learn anything useful. “But I’m still not a terrorist.”

“But it was my integrity that mattered.” Raven continued in Laura’s mind, even as the cops poured more water onto her face and into her lungs, trying to force her to confess to whatever crimes they wanted to plant on her, just like they did with every other “terrorist”. “Is that so selfish? It sells for so little, but it’s all we have in this American nightmare. It’s the very last inch of us, but in that one inch we are free.”

Waterboarding didn’t work, so they hit her instead. Normally there’s an extent to how much they can hurt a person before they have to stop, lest the person be killed; but with Laura things were different. They can hurt her to their heart’s content, and she’d bounce back so long as even one breath was still left in her. They could try out all of their most cruel and sadistic fantasies on her and get away with it.

“After I graduated, I got a job in Hollywood.” Raven’s words came to life as Laura read the note again. “It’s not all sunshine and roses like I expected. The powerful men - actors, directors, or writers, they’re used to having girls throwing themselves at them for a shot at stardom, they see every actress as objects for their pleasure, they make unwanted advances or just touch you without consent all the damn time.”

Dark. Light. Sleep. Wake. Food. Torture. Repeat. Dark. Light. Sleep. Wake. Food. Torture. Repeat. Dark. Light. Sleep. Wake. Food. Torture. Repeat. Dark. Light. Sleep. Wake. Food. Torture. Repeat. Dark. Light. Sleep. Wake. Food. Torture. Repeat. Dark. Light. Sleep. Wake. Food. Torture. Repeat. Dark. Light. Sleep. Wake. Food. Torture. Repeat. Dark. Light. Sleep. Wake. Food. Torture. Repeat.

“I got a breakthrough when they cast me as a main character on the adaptation of the comic _Watchmen_.” Raven’s words were Laura’s only solace in this hell on Earth. “That’s when I met the love of my life, Irene Adler. She’s a Mutant, like me; claims that she can see the future; claims that it’s destiny that brought us together. I found it kinda silly, but I love her so much I’m more than happy to indulge her.”

She had read the note, over and over again. She knew every inch of it. Every word, every misspelling, every grammar mistake. She knew how each word looks in different light, how they feel like when her hands brushed against the delicate surface of the toilet paper, how they sounded like when she read them out in hushed whisper. She hid it when she sleep; she couldn’t risk it being taken away from her.

“In the end, she couldn’t foresee the Legacy Virus, or the madness that followed in its wake.” the words were smeared here; Raven must have been crying. “ _Watchmen_ was banned for having a black woman as the protagonist and for not portraying the police force in an unambiguously positive light; it wasn’t politically correct enough for the Conservatives. Everyone involved with the show was arrested.”

Laura cried when she read it. She imagined what it must be like, to be depraved of your life by childish losers who lose their shit at the mere sight of a strong black woman, to have your voices silenced by selfish bastards who were so fucking privileged they could get way with any atrocity simply by crying hard enough. She cried as she imagined Raven cried when she put down these words in the dark of her cell, knowing she’d die.

“They burned Irene with cigarette butts. I don’t know why they hate us so much, why they’re so scared shitless by us. Is their masculinity so fragile that it crumbles at the sight of two girls together? Is their self-image so twisted that they can’t stand the sight of a successful Asian person? They made Irene sign a confession saying that I seduced her. I didn’t blame her. God, I loved her so. How can I blame her?”

She knew every inch of her cell. She knew every pitted indentation in the hard plaster like she knew the back of her hand, and she didn’t even know where she was. It got dark, and then light; she woke, and then she slept. She didn’t know what day it is, or how much time had passed. She found something inside a hole in the wall: it was a note written on toiler paper, signed by a person named Raven Darkhölme.

“But she did. She killed herself in her cell. She couldn’t live with betraying me, with giving up that last inch. Oh, my poor Irene. And then it was my turn. They beat me. They rape me. They waterboard me. I know I’ll die here. The woman in the next cell, Wanda, died two days ago. I know I’m going to follow her soon. I will die here, every inch of my being shall perish. Every inch except for that last one inch.”

“An inch.” Laura read the note out in hushed whispers, imagining Raven reading it with her. “It’s small and it’s fragile and it’s the only thing in the world that’s worth having. We must never lose it, or sell it, or give it away. We must never let them take it away from us. I don’t know who you are. I will never see you. But I want you to know I love you. I hope you get out of this alive and escape into a better world.”

She knew every inch of this cell.

“Sincerely Yours,”

This cell knew every inch of her.

“Raven Darkhölme.”

Except one.

\\\V//

“My name is Laura Kinney.” the man read the written confession out loud for her. “On November 11 th , 2022, I was recruited by the terrorist known as Weapon V. I was subjected to the ungodly brainwash of his Islamic faith, until I became a willing accomplice to his violent Communist agenda. I can prove he has possession of a weapon of mass destruction, and should be considered extremely dangerous.”

“Wait, what?” Laura laughed at the absurdity of it all. “First he’s a Muslim, and then he’s a Commie? Not that the two are mutually exclusive, but if you’re gonna make shit up, can you at least get your stories straight first, instead of just accusing people you dislike with all the labels you dislike? Only a coward would sign this ridiculous piece of shit; you can all go fuck yourselves and die already!”

“You idealists, you’re all the same.” the man said coldly. “You think you’re so pure and noble, ready to die for your stupid cause. But sacrificing yourself is easy – are you ready to sacrifice others for it?”

Three people appeared on the screen before her, each in a holding cell much like the one Laura was in.

“The nigger calls himself Darwin; says he can survive anything.” the man said. “The dyke calls herself Negasonic Teenage Warhead, if you can believe it. And the haji is Kamala Khan of the Inhumans.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

“If you don’t sign it, they’ll die.”

“ _What!?_ ”

“Miss Frost. Pastor Bishop. Dr. Walters. For each attack you confess to participating, one of them walks. And for each attack you refuse to take responsibility of, one of them will be killed right now.”

“Why are you doing this!?” Laura shouted, her indignation over this injustice driving her to the verge of tears. “Can’t you just fake my signature or some shit!? Why threaten innocent people’s lives like this!?”

“Clock’s ticking, Miss Kinney.” the man gave her no answer. “If you don’t reply soon, we’ll kill them all. There’s more where they come from, when we can arrest people because of skin colors alone.”

“Fine!” Laura finally lost her temper and slammed her fist down on the table. “I’ll confess to anything! I’ll sign anything! Blame me for assassinating John Fucking Kennedy if you want! Just let them go!”

“You’re willing to die for what you believe in, but you’re not willing to kill for it?” the man asked her.

“Oh, I’ll fucking kill you if I could!” Laura growled. “But not innocent people. Never innocent people.”

“There’s nothing left to threaten you with then.” the man said as the spotlight went out. “You’re free.”

“What?” Laura blinked and saw what was before her: it wasn’t a man at all, just a cardboard cut-out.

“What the - ” she inspected the cardboard more closely and found a mini microphone attached to it.

“What the hell!?” she began running through the corridors, but there was no one there. The corridors became increasingly familiar until finally she reached a familiar room with a familiar mask inside it:

“Welcome home, Laura.” Weapon V told her with open arms, and the pallid white mask just smiled.

\\\V//

“You.” Laura blinked, her eyes wide. “You did this.” she slowly clenched her fists and teeth. “To me.” she jumped at Weapon V and punched him in the chest; he didn’t dodge or make a sound. “It was you! It was you this whole time!” she screamed as she showered him with a flurry of blows. “You tortured me! You fucking tortured me! What the fuck, Weapon V? Why? Why the hell did you do it? _Why!?_ ”

“Because I love you like a little sister, Laura.” Weapon V said softly. “Because I want to set you free.”

“Because - ” Laura growled and kicked Weapon V in the thigh. “Set me free!? Don’t you realize what you did to me!?” she gave him a solid shove, but his form didn’t bulge. “You almost drove me crazy!”

“If that’s what it takes, Laura.”

“I hate you!” Laura spat. “I hate you because you just talk shit and you think you’re so fucking cool you don’t have to make any goddamn sense! Nothing you say really means anything! You say you love me but you tortured me for lulz, you say you want to set me free but you put me in a fucking prison, man!”

“You were always in prison, Laura. You’ve been in prison your entire life.” Weapon V said. “Everyone is born into a prison. We toil day and night for the privilege to stay imprisoned, pleasing the slavers of our own making, oblivious to the pain and suffering we inflict on our fellow human beings. Some see it at the end of the line, how they have devoted their good lives to a system of evil, and thus deserve no salvation from anywhere. Now you see it too, and you’ll have to live with it, and for that I’m sorry.“

“Then why!? Why tell me something just so it can torment me!? Why not let me live in ignorance!?”

“Because admission of guilt is the first step to redemption.” Weapon V stepped forward. “And taking responsibilities for oneself is the first step to true freedom. People think they are being responsible by getting a job, getting married, getting a child...but the truth is they have never taken responsibilities for themselves, not even for a day in their lives. They put their responsibilities and power in the hands of tyrants by any other name, and in doing so became complicit in the oppression of the less fortunate.”

“Shut up! Just...shut the fuck up!” Laura covered her ears. “I don’t wanna hear it! Just leave me alone!”

“I know you’re scared.” Weapon V removed Laura’s hands, gently but firmly. “That’s because you can feel real freedom dawning on you and it scares you, just like it scares everyone else. Those who would trade liberty for security deserve neither, for security is the most insidious prison of all. That pounding of your heart, that sweating of your skin, that feeling of discomfort when you don’t know what’s going to happen and what the future will hold...that’s true freedom, Laura. Don’t fear it; embrace it. Love it.”

“I...don’t..” Laura began to sob uncontrollably, her words came out in unintelligible babbles. “What…”

“When you were asked to choose between your principles and your life, you chose your principles.” he took her hand and led her toward an elevator. “But when asked to choose between your dignity and the lives of innocents, you chose to save their lives. That’s because you realized that you’re responsible not to an authority like God, State, or Capital, but to the lives and well-being of your fellow human beings. That’s Anarchy: the freedom to be loved for who you are, and to love others for who they are.”

“Outside?” Laura blinked when the elevator started to ascend. “I don’t wanna be blindfolded again…”

“No more blindfolds, Laura.” Weapon V said as the door opened. “There’s no more blindfolds for you.”

“The roof…” Laura whispered as they stepped into a freezing downpour, into the storm. “It’s so cold...”

“Can you feel it, Laura?” Weapon V asked. “Can you feel how the cold rain is pounding your skin?”

“Like I’ve never felt before.” Laura laughed. “And it’s wonderful. The rain, the wind...everything.”

“Once upon a time, I had a night like this, alone under a roaring sky.” Weapon V lifted Laura’s arms up into a “V” pose. “I was transformed...transcendent...freed. Tonight is yours, Laura. Now you’re free.”


	5. Chapter IV: Violence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These violent delights have violent ends.

#  **Chapter IV: Violence**

_These violent delights have violent ends._

“I’ll never forgive you for what you did to me, Weapon V.” Laura said and placed a kiss on Weapon V’s forehead. “But you made me realize that my liberation is bounded up with yours, and that of everyone else. So thank you, and let’s work together to free the American people, if you would still have me.”

“I expected nothing less.” Weapon V said looking up from the piano. “And you did it all by yourself. I merely provided the backdrop; the drama was all your own, and what a great human drama it was!”

“It was a good backdrop.” Laura said with a laugh. “I really believed I was in prison. It’s still hard for me to accept that it was all just you and me; there were no guards...no interrogators...and no Raven.”

“Raven was real.” Weapon V said as he stood up and went to the door. “Please, Laura...come with me.”

Weapon V took Laura to another room, with walls and ceiling covered by posters and photos of many different faces, but all of them have the same name and the same signature: Raven Darkhölme.

“Raven wrote the letter, in their own words, while they lived.” Weapon V said. “I delivered it to you as it was delivered to me. The words you wept over had transformed me as they have transformed you.”

“They’re beautiful.” Laura mused at the photo of a person with blue skin. “Who were they, Weapon V?”

“They were the inmate of the prison cell next to mine.” Weapon V told Laura. “They were Weapon W.”

\\\V//

“Remember what we discussed, Mr. Stark.” Anthony Stark thought back to his meeting with the mysterious man in the pallid white mask and clutched his briefcase. “Now go to your tower and repeat the Signal.”

“Mr. Stark?” the janitor blinked when she saw Stark go through the front entrance. “I thought you don’t work here anymore?” nevertheless, she made way for her former boss and even got the door for him.

“Not since that one-eyed thug Fury eminent-domained my ass, no.” Stark laughed and showed her the briefcase. “It’s still my building though, so they call me to play the maintenance guy when it acts up.”

“A genius like you, reduced to a working man.” the janitor sighed, not knowing that Stark had invented nothing and merely acquired them with his Father’s wealth. “Alas, how the mighty have fallen!”

Without another word, Stark stepped into the elevator, which took him to the server room. The servers control the Sentinels: cat-sized, spider-like drones connected to Cerebro, helping to detect Mutants and spread the psychic blockade that prevents them from active use of their powers. That’s about to change.

Stark took a USB from a hidden compartment. Engraved on its surface was a single word: “Forge”. It was a testament to the utter incompetence of Stark and the Shield agents who stole the tower from him that there were open USB ports on the servers at all, but right now Stark was glad to have been a fraud.

He plugged the thumb drive in, and am intricate flower of mathematical complexity blossomed inside the servers, bringing with them a short video message recorded by the masked vigilantecalled Weapon V, which appeared on every screen connected to the servers:

“Good day, America. It’s me again; I would introduce myself, but I’m afraid I don’t have a name; you can call me Weapon V.” Weapon V’s image said with a flourish. “For years, the Sentinels had watched your every move in every hour of every day, rooting out un-American ideas like equality or diversity before you can put them into action. Today, that shackle had been lifted, and Americans are free to dream again.

“Thanks to Mr. Stark’s help, a number of the Sentinels had been infected with a malware and are now broadcasting a Signal to counteract the castrating effect of Cerebro, giving you your power and privacy back. No doubt the authorities are even now trying to undo this damage to their tyrannical regime, but you can find your own copy of the malware on the website SignalForge.

“Show me your faith without deeds, if you can.” Weapon V concluded his address by pointing a finger at the audience. “You claim you’re not Fascists. Prove it. This Signal kills fascists. Repeat the Signal.”

\\\V//

“That son of a bitch Stark got away!” Frank growled into the video call. “He had some kinda weird ass armor...then this big green guy came to rescue him…they took out the server room...killed Fury too!”

“We’re trying to undo the signal and find the host of the SignalForge site.” Drake said. “With Shield in disarray, it’s taking longer than expected, and the site is being mirrored by civilians as we speak…”

“What the hell!?” Xavier, who had never raised his voice in his entire life, finally lost his temper as he witnessed his perfect order crumbling around him. “Where the hell is Erik!? Get him on a line now!”

“We don’t know.” Frank said with an expression of disgust. “The old man hasn’t checked in since he’s sent on the mandatory leave. Maybe he finally croaked during a chess game or something, heh.”

“You’ll address your superior with respect, Mr. Castle.” Xavier’s voice turned cold, but the lingering anger was still apparent. “Do your jobs and maybe we can still keep America great. Xavier out.”

The king of the Illuminati sat back on his throne of a wheelchair, angry and frustrated. He had gave American people peace in security and the light of civility; what more could they want from him?

“I fixed that machine for you, Xavier.” a line suddenly appeared on the monitor before him, startling Xavier. “I gave it to you because I thought you’d do the right thing. Now I’m going to unmake it.”

“Forge…?” the Professor blinked as he clutched at his chest. “No no no, you’re dead! We killed you!”

“You can kill the flesh and blood,” appeared on the screen. “But ideas are bulletproof. You will see.”

\\\V//

“What’s wrong, Jean?” Pamela asked her co-worker as they passed one of those ridiculous “Peace at Any Cost, Civility Above All Else” posters, which was vandalized with a big red “V” painted over it.

“They’re not going to do anything for Scott.” Jean said gloomily. “The government isn’t even going to pay for his funeral. Says it doesn’t count as killed in action since he didn’t die during office hours.”

“What the actual motherfuck.” Pamela bit her lips and stopped in her trek. “He’s right, isn’t he?”

“Who’s right?” Jean blinked. “About what?”

“The man with the mask. Weapon V.” Pamela said. “We shouldn’t have to live like this. It’s wrong.”

“Maybe so.” Jean sighed. “But what can we do?”

Jean walked on, leaving Pamela to brood on her own. Soon enough, a cop came to harass the single woman like cops always do: it’s what happens when you give people too much authority over others.

“Did you do this, Miss Isley?” the cop turned out to be a frequent at the diner. “I’m gonna have to pat you down. Thoroughly.” he said leering at her. “Nothing personal, Pamela; just doing my job here.”

“So you’re like an ant, just doing what you’re told.” Pamela’s voice was dangerously even. “An insect that wouldn’t mind if you’re squashed.”

“What?” the cop blinked, startled by this open act of defiance. “Okay, Miss Isley, show me your -”

“It’s DOCTOR Isley to you, asswipe!” the woman growled as leaves and flowers blossomed in her brown hair, which quickly grew into tangling vines, strangling the pig and squashing him like a bug. “You know what? Never mind.”

“My name,” the Inhuman queen in hiding spat on the corpse of the dead police man. “Is Gaean Medusa.”

\\\V//

“We have to do something!” the tiny Jewish girl beseeched the spectators to intervene on behalf of a woman who was being beaten by the cops, probably about to be shot. “They’re going to kill her!”

“Meh, just another white bitch.” a black man snorted. “I think a tranny too. Think it’s fun to steal, that it’s quirky, when people like me had to steal to survive. Now look at how fun it is to fight the system!”

“Would you feel the same if someone called you a nigger and then shot your for shop-lifting?” the girl spat in rage, to the absolute horror and fury of all onlookers. “I know I would be pretty fucking pissed if someone called me a kike and tried to shoot me, but well I guess that’s just me then, you cowards!”

The man fell silent, and so did the crowd. The girl sulked for a while as the cops unholstered their guns.

“He’s right, Weapon V.” the girl gave the man a shove; he didn’t push back. “You libs with your hand-wringing, you’re all the same; all you care about is clout and power, you don’t give a shit about who suffers and who dies! You’re all guilty. You are murderers by inaction, each and every last one of you!”

That said, the girl ran toward the cops, with nothing but her slender arms to defend her from the bullets.

“What the - ” the man blinked and ran after her instinctively. “Do you have a fucking death wish!?”

He pulled her aside and the two fell to the floor, his bulk cushioning her fall, the two of them narrowly escaping the bullets. But their victory seemed meaningless, as the cops were converging around them, their weapons locked and loaded and trained on an unarmed man and a young girl, ready to murder.

“Fuck off!” the girl growled as she reached for the closest cop’s gun, her hand phasing though it and came away with the bullets, disarming it.

“What, you can do that?” the man blinked.

“I wasn’t sure if I still could.” the girl said.

The police were all over them. They pulled the girl up by her hair while giving the black man a beating.

“Run.” the man told the girl. “Save yourself.”

“Fuck off.” the girl said with a weak smile.

Just then, a thrown hammer hit one of the cops on the side of his head, splattering his brain across the concrete. The onlookers, at last overwhelmed by the enormity of the injustice they had been aiding and abiding for years, awakened to their moral conscience and dormant humanity, righteous fury filling their hearts.

\\\V//

“Student protests continued at the Avengers Academy, protected by the ex-Marine Captain Rogers.” the news said. “Mr. Stark threatens lawsuits against the government if any harm were to come to them…”

“Those tree-hugging Inhumans attacked the Raft, freeing that terrorist Kamala Khan.” the police radio said. “They are demanding 20% reduction in carbon emission in exchange for the hostages…”

“Workers are striking all across the nation,” the news again. “Many of them chanted the slogan of the Brotherhood, which had transformed into a labor organization since the disappearance of Magneto…”

“They were all wearing that goddamn V mask.” police radio. “Can’t tell Steve from Eve...we grabbed a buncha guys, turned out to be just kids playing dress-up, the bank robbers were long gone by then…”

“All these riots and outrage...is this Anarchy in America, Weapon V?” Laura asked between push-ups while listening to the comms and broadcasts Weapon V had in the room, barely breaking a sweat or breathing hard. “Is this the fabled ‘land of the free, home of the brave’?”

“No.” Weapon V shook his head. “This is only the twilight’s last gleaming for a dying empire. Anarchy means ‘without rules’, not ‘without order’. Rules, or involuntary order, breeds the disenfranchised, the worshipers of St. Guillotine. Representative ‘democracy’ is like figure skating: beautiful on the surface, with cold and violent vortex lurking just below. And that layer of ice they’re on is precariously thin indeed.”

“This isn’t Anarchy, Laura.” Weapon V concluded. “This is chaos.”

\\\V//

“I’m in charge now that the old man isn’t coming back!” Frank told his fellow officers. “We’re gonna have a new unit – I’m calling it the Banishers! We’re gonna banish the un-Americans from this land!”

“This is our logo:” Frank pulled a skull mask over his head. “The message is clear: if you don’t like our America, if you have any complaint about it whatsoever...you can go home, or go to hell and die!”

“They’ll join us or die!” Frank sprayed spittle with patriotic fervor. “Anyone who isn’t straight, white, or Christian...all the un-Americans will convert to our way or life, or they won’t have a life at all!”

\\\V//

“Fascism, when first detecting chaos at its heels, will entertain the vilest schemes to preserve its orderly facade.” Weapon V continued. “But it’s always order without love, justice, or liberty, which can’t stop their little world’s inevitable descent into hell on Earth: after all, it’s always been hell for the oppressed.

“Fascism wears two faces: the Liberal and the Conservative. The Liberal dangles a false hope of reform before the people, if they’d only continue to support the system that exploited them. The Conservative attacks the Liberal mercilessly, but in truth they’re two sides of the same coin, a coin for the slaver.

“The collapse of Fascism sends cracks through bedrooms and boardrooms, churches and schools alike. All rules are tyranny, and all institutions are oppression. Equality and freedom are not luxuries that can be easily cast aside; without them, order cannot exist without becoming an instrument of violence.”

“Are you almost finished?” Laura inquired about what he had spent the last hour on while they talked.

“See for yourself.” Weapon V pulled his hands away from his house of cards. “The playing cards, royal soldiers to their monarch, with numbers on their faces and color-coded for their conveniences. Poor cards, your pretty little empire took you so long to build, but now with a single snap of history’s fingers…”

Weapon V snapped his fingers.

“It all goes down.”

\\\V//

Erik stood before the abandoned Genosha Resettlement Camp, the toilet where all the “undesirables” of respectable American society were flushed down into. He had the syringe he found in Dr. Walters’s fridge in his hand; it was labeled “Super Soldier Serum.” He didn’t know if Walters kept it in the fridge, or if Weapon V planted it there; he didn’t even know if it’s actually the Serum at all, it could just as easily be cyanide, LSD, or water. But he had to try it. He had to try his best to understand what made Weapon V. He owed it to the world, and he owed it to himself, to find out who he is, who Weapon V is...

...Who Magneto was, beyond just another voice stifled by Xavier, his armor another trophy in a museum. His information was scrubbed as if he was an X-Man; all Erik could find were hearsay about how close he and Xavier was, that they were best friends or even lovers. Imagine a man willing to betray his best friend, his lover even, for the sake of power, in pursuit of his vision of a perfect world...what kind of man love like that? What kind of monster would put systems and institutions above human lives and suffering, and only visits what remained of their friends and loved ones in museums and graveyards?

He injected the translucent liquid into his veins. Now he was strapped-in, counting down from his wrist to his heart to his brain, ready for take off. He didn’t know what to expect, so he decided to take a look around when there was still daylight. He found an oven. This must be _the_ oven. The one where they cooked people in, turning them into ashes. If he had known all of this atrocity was happening, would he still joined the force? Why did he join the force in the first place? What could it possibly achieve?

He saw two bodies hanging down from the barbed fence, one black and another Native American. They were both naked, with heavy bruises and deep cuts all over. Even though he had seen much worse in his work, Erik knelt down and threw up. He was disgusted by the naked hatred of the perpetrators, as well as the apathy of the “respectable” Americans to allow this to happen under their noses. And at that point he realized this violence is nothing new. It’s the American way. It always was, and always will be.

He felt overwhelmed. He tried to go back the way he came, but suddenly the gate was so impossibly far away. He can’t walk that far; his legs felt like jelly and everything was thrumming. He was trapped in a job that disgusted him, and his only “friend” is an asshole who thinks with his guns instead of his brain or heart, just like the rest of them on the force. He was alone, he was so horribly alone. He wished his old friends were here...his old comrades...he used to have those, back in the days of the Brotherhood…

Oh. Oh, look! There they were! They were all smiling; they were all happy. God, it’s been so long…he had forgotten how rich the color of someone’s skin could be, a million different shades instead of just a pale and sickly white...the girls he saw kissing each other at the demonstrations, and the men, so gentle and soft-spoken...oh Jesus, he missed them...he missed their voices and their walk, their food and their clothes, their art and their music. His friends...there at the Pride parades, the Antifa rallies, the strikes…

“Beast...Toad...Pyro…” he muttered their names, almost like praying. “Destiny...Mystique...Forge...”

He wanted them to see beyond the uniform. He wanted them to know that he cared. But it was no use. One by one, they were taken behind the chemical shed and shot for the crimes of their existence, their bodies burnt to ash in the people oven. They would never know he cared, now that they were all dead, their ashes flushed down the toilet. It was just as well; what was his care if he didn’t act upon it? Like everyone, he talked about liberty and justice while working for a system of injustice and oppression.

“I love you…!” Erik broke down into tears, for the first time in...the first time as far as he remembered.

He saw movement in the main compound. He went in and saw a pile of documents stacked on a table.

“Animal mutation experiment, Weapon V:” Dr. Walters declared as she suddenly appeared right next to him. “Subject exhibits close to human intelligence and form, as well as a potent healing factor…”

The subject, a mutated wolverine, was howling in pain and agony, its twisted limbs vaguely resembling that of a person, with sharp mental claws protruding from its paws, covered by black opera gloves.

“All clones so far had died from accelerated aging and cellular degeneration.” Dr. Walters continued, as if Erik’s horrified face wasn’t staring at her. “Subject X-23 was the only one to have survived…”

“What the fuck are you doing, Jennifer?” Erik called out and tried to reach for the good doctor. “You’re better than this; I know you are. You have a heart...you gave free medicine to poor children…”

“And who made them poor in the first place, hm?” Bishop appeared behind him. “It was you! Whiteys! You took all the money and leave the rest of us only tidbits, so we fight over scraps like fucking rats!”

“Bishop?” Erik blinked as he turned around, but Bishop was at his back no matter how much he turned.

“Nah, Imma just a pawn!” Bishop laughed. “That’s what whiteys think, no? You can build huts out of shit and call it architecture, but when Egyptians or Natives built pyramids, it’s aliens or super muties!”

“Are you one of them super muties, hm?” Bishop raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Are you Magneto?”

“I’m not - ” Erik began, and then bit his tongue because: “I don’t know...who he is...or...who I am…”

Someone grabbed his arms. It was Emma Frost in her warden’s uniform, except there were three of them, two of them grabbing his arms while one led them all toward the cells and the chemical shed.

“No, please, stop it!” Erik cried in fear and confusion. “I have served faithfully! Is that not enough?”

The three Emmas all turned to face him, but the only word that came out of their mouths was just this:

“Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku! Goo-ku!”

“Leave me alone!” Erik swung his arms and scattered papers all over the floor; when he came to it he was standing in front of a cell, and the only one he could see was a blue person on the inside.

“Me and Irene’s only son. Kurt.” the person told him. “Keep him safe, Magneto. You owed us that much.”

“You and Destiny’s child, yes.” Erik nodded, reaching out his hand. “I’m so sorry, Mystique. I wish - ”

He wanted to apologize, to beg them for forgiveness, but his plea fell on the deaf ears of dead people.

“I’m sorry, Erik.” Xavier told him, in a memory lost in the sea of time, a memory that’s only set loose because of Frank’s counterattack. “But Magneto has to go. They all have to go. For the sake of peace.”

How? Erik asked himself as he climbed into the cell and curled up into a fetal position. How did he get here? To this stinking place – his conscience, his job, his life...his prison, his hell, his punishment. Who imprisoned him here? Who was keeping him here? Who made him detective Eisenhardt, a slave of the US government? Who could release him from his torment? Who’s strangling and stifling him except -

“...Me?”

He raised his hand and pushed at the metal door to his cell through sheer force of will, bending it out of the frame without ever laying a finger on it. When he walked out of his inferno, he saw the letter “W” engraved on the door, now laying upside-down on the floor, looking more like a stylized “M” instead. M for Magneto, Master of Magnetism, moving, mutating, mowing down the monsters that manipulated his mind, feeling maternal, feeling magnificent, feeling this moxie, this magic, this majesty, this…

“Marvel.” he sighed, standing alone beneath a roaring sky, freed from his American nightmare at last.

\\\V//

“Things are spinning out of control.” Drake told Madrox and put a badge into his hands. “By the power vested in me, I officially deputize you. Welcome to the side of law and order, Mr. Madrox.”

“Long time no see, Don Essex.” Madrox went back to his old boss, hiding his gun behind a badge like every coward. “Compliments from my new employers.” then he shot the mob boss down like a dog.

“Sorry boss, but I moved up in the food chain.” Madrox sat down in Essex’s chair while his duplicates cleaned up the scene. “After all, what’s law enforcement if not the biggest, meanest mob in the nation?”

\\\V//

“Are you gonna do something,” Laura asked, impatient. “Or just hide down here and sit out the chaos?”

“The chaos progresses splendidly without us, Laura.” Weapon V said. “For my part, I rather think it’s time we put certain things in order.”

“The hell does that mean?” Laura pressed on. “Are we gonna do something or not? What will happen?”

“ _Que sera, sera.”_ Weapon V sang. _“Whatever will be, will be.”_

“A song isn’t an answer.” Laura scowled. “Whatever _will_ be? I wanna know what you’ll _do_ , Weapon V.”

“You want me to show you my _will_?” Weapon V asked. “Very well.” a nod. “Well then…this way.”

“Not exactly what I asked, but whatevs.” Laura shrugged and followed Weapon V through the corridors.

“Knowledge is like air:” Weapon V took Laura to the room filled with banned books, the room she saw when she was first brought to the Danger Room. “It’s essential to life, and no one should be denied it.”

“Oh, c’mon, Weapon V!” Laura waved her hands for emphasis. “No more games! You’ve always been mysterious...about yourself, this place, your plans...if knowledge is air, you’re strangling me here!”

“Quite the reverse, Laura.” Weapon V replied. “I have been teaching you how to breath. Now, this way.”

“In the digital era, the people worship the God of Black Mirrors and live in the United States of Social Media.” he showed her a room filled with electronics and computers. “Pixels and bytes are their reality; by manipulating codes and data, we can remake reality to our liking, just as the technocrats always do.”

“Oh, these rooms are connected?” Laura asked as she began to grasp the geometry of the Danger Room.

“Everything is connected, Laura.” Weapon V led Laura to the room with photos and posters of every role Raven had ever played. “Everything and every _one_. You must understand that knowledge is not all your heritage; it also includes passion and conviction like Raven’s. And romance. Always, always romance.”

“In midst the insurrection’s clamor, it’s easy to forget what we’re fighting for, what we’re willing to die for.” he led her to the room with a piano and other musical instruments. “ _Do you hear the people sing?_ Anarchy must embrace the noises of bombs and gunfire, but she always loves sweet music more.”

“ _E_ _delweiss, edelweiss…_ ” Laura played it on the piano, one man's subliminal goodbye to a beloved homeland he no longer recognized. “Man, I still can’t get it right. It’ so simple too!”

“Here you’ll find books and equipment that will help you make bombs out of groceries or make drugs cheaper than water; use it wisely.” Weapon V took Laura to a laboratory. “We can never have too much science; with it ideas can germinate in a bed of theory, form, and practice, which assists their growth.”

“But we must be vigilant and constant gardeners,” Weapon V opened a door to his rose garden. “For some seeds are the seeds of destruction, and the most iridescent blooms are often the most dangerous.”

“You got a rose for each of your... _vendetta_.” Laura said. “Is there a rose here for Professor Xavier?”

“Oh no, not here, not one of the good doctor’s Jean.” Weapon V shook his head. “For him, I have cultivated a most special rose of Grey. Come.”

“What’s on the next floor?”

“Not so much a floor as a mezzanine.” Weapon V put a few bricks wrapped in paper into Laura’s hands. “Just one more floor to go. If you can help me carry these, I will be grateful. Just be careful with them.”

“Sure.” Laura nodded. “What are these?”

“C-4 explosives.”

“Explosives!?” Laura drew in a breath. “What are you gonna blow up? What are you doing with them?”

“I’m not going to blow up anything.” Weapon V laughed. “Not anymore. So help me dispose of them.”

“There are two wolves inside every revolution: the wolverine and the shepherd.” Weapon V told Laura while they walked further down the spiral staircase. “Thus the wolverine devours other predators; clear a path so the shepherd may lead the herd to a better world. Predators, once slain, make further murder’s means irrelevant. Away with our claws and tooth, then! Away with our wolverines! They have no place within our better world. But let us raise a toast to all our killers, all our monsters, the best at what they do even if what they do isn’t very nice. Let’s drink their health, then meet with them _no more_.”

“Wow, it’s so cool!” Laura cheered when she saw the plane Weapon V stashed down there. “What is it?”

“Just a memento from another life.” Weapon V said lightly and opened the hangar of the plane, which was filled with flowers as well. “Come, let’s be discreet and hide all the C-4 behind the spider lilies…”

“It’s like another garden in there.” Laura giggled as she walked out of the plane and looked it over. “It looks so old...where did you get it? What did you use it for? Were you like a superhero or something?”

But Weapon V simply turned his head and walked away without another word, so Laura followed him.

“What are the flowers for?” Laura asked, but the pallid white mask just smiled. “...What are they for, Weapon V?” she asked again, but he never said a word, as if he hadn’t heard. “I asked you a question!”

“You asked me to show you my will.” Weapon V said at last. “I have done so. Now I have to wait.”

“Weapon V, I’m tired of your puzzles. Just tell me!” Laura said dejectedly. “What are you waiting for?”

“ _I’m waiting for the end._ ”

“Wait, what? Is that - ” Laura blinked. “More fucking lyrics!? It is, innit!? I remember that reference!” she sighed. “I give up, Weapon V. No more games. What’s so bad you can’t tell it to me straight?”

“Weapon V, I’m waiting.” Laura crossed her arms below a movie poster. “What are you trying to say?”

The poster was of a 1973 American crime thriller directed by Robert Altman, starring Elliott Gould as Philip Marlowe, an adaptation based on a 1953 hard-boiled detective novel by Raymond Chandler:

 _The Long Goodbye_.

\\\V//

Jean looked at the cardboard box on her bed as she got dressed with somewhere to go; a big red “V” was painted on one side. She found the box on her doorsteps; there was a Sentinel drone inside, its legs removed, still broadcasting the Signal that kills Fascists. She put the legless drone into her purse after she squeezed into her dress; without legs its spherical shape was barely bigger than a can of soda.

“Dear Mrs. Summers:” the note that came with the box said, “I understand you have suffered a great deal of humiliation following your husband’s death, since this country is too busy using people up to take care of them or their widows. Since I was there when your husband died, I feel obliged to help you get whatever little justice from a fundamentally unjust system. Sincerely Yours, Weapon V.”

Jean hesitated. What she was about to do was unthinkable for a normal human being. Most countries go years or decades without it occurring even once, though in the great America it’s quite common.

“What the actual motherfuck. He’s right, isn’t he?” her coworker Pamela’s words echoed in Jean’s ears, helping her to make up her mind. “Weapon V. We shouldn’t have to live like this. It’s wrong.”

Jean picked up a picture of herself with her husband Scott. She kissed it softly, remembering all the good times the two of them had together, then she burned it in her bare hands.

\\\V//

The Holocaust Museum, Washington D. C.

They put his armor here after his “death”, as he is the son of Holocaust survivors. They couldn’t erase him, but they could insult his memories by scrubbing the hammer and sickle from his chest place to satisfy the incessant demand for political correctness from the Conservatives, pretending as if the Nazis didn’t also genocide queers, disabled people, and political dissidents like himself. They insulted him like when that stupid Victims of Communism Memorial Foundation decided to put the death toil from the Legacy Virus on Communism, on account of it being originated from a “Communist” nation. How laughable.

Soon, he would claim even more lives in the name of Communism, lives of the bourgeoisie swines.

He took the helmet into his hands, turned it around to inspect the stylize purple “M” on the red surface, before putting it on. It was a gift from his old flame, Xavier; it was given to him so he’d know that his thoughts and his love were his, and not the result of coercion from Xavier’s telepathy. But in the end, it didn’t matter; nothing ever really mattered to Xavier – not him, not the country, not their friends. It’s about power. It had always been about power. Power without belief, without faith, without conviction.

He put on the armor and the cloak. Flexed his fingers. The various metal casings rattled under his will.

There was no memorial to commemorate the victims of Capitalism. The homeless people who starved to death because the government put bleach into the free food offered by kind citizens. Children being worked to death in sweat shops all over Asia and Africa, so that Westerners can have blood chocolate or coffee on the cheap. Arabs being blown to pieces and shot full of holes, so the Americans can steal the oil from their ancestral lands. All of them, sacrificed on the altar of Moloch, cost of business as usual.

No more. No more business as usual. No more quiet complicity. Today they would make a joyful noise!

“Hello, Detective Eisenhardt.” a voice came from behind him. He turned around. “So, we meet at last.”

It was the Anarchist, the terrorist, the revolutionary, the masked vigilante calling himself Weapon V.

“Erik Eisenhardt is dead.” he took out his sidearm and unloaded the bullets. Adamantium, requisitioned when Walters found trace amount of the metal in the wounds of his victims. “My name is Magneto.”

Then he shot the bullets into Weapon V’s body through sheer force of will, killing the villain at last.

\\\V//

“Now I’d like to introduce my very good friend:” the President said. “Give it up for Professor Xavier!”

“Thank you, Mr. President.” Xavier was all smile and wave as he rolled onto the stadium. “In the last few months, we have suffered a series of terrorist attacks, committed by the Mutant supervillain calling himself Weapon V. These despicable and cowardly acts could only be conceived in the mind of a mad man who is utterly devoid of any compassion, knowing neither the fear of God nor the love of science.”

 _Yes_ , despite her fear, for it’s insignificant, just like everything else about her sad, miserable little life.

“I would like to remind my fellow Americans that this country is built on a dream, the dream of liberty. That means sometimes we have to break bread with people we disagree with, and listen to opinions we found atrocious. We cannot simply discount someone’s opinion because we think they’re racist, sexist, or homophobic; we mustn’t ignore entire people simply because they produced violent radicals.”

 _Yes_ , even though she would die from it, because if she didn’t then her life would have meant nothing.

“The only people that we must always resist are the Communists and Muslims. Their ways of lives are fundamentally un-American. We must never break bread with these political extremists and violent radicals; they’ve forfeited their rights to be heard the moment they decided to criticize the sacred laws of our nation and attack its divine institutions. We must focus on eliminating these threats completely.”

 _Yes_ , because their lives were wasted on _his_ vision of perfect order, the only vision they were allowed.

“We mustn’t use violence in place of dialogues. We must always trust in rules and the system, to work with them in striving for our goals. For we’re simply the greatest democracy in the world, perfect in its conception and immaculate in its execution; there’s nothing in this country that cannot be fixed if you simply call your representatives and cast your sacred votes. The institution is simply God himself.”

 _Yes_ , because his kind lead them to hell, and then tell them the only way out is to suffer more in hell.

“This way, miss.” Drake smiled as he cleared a path for her through the crowd. “He will appreciate it.”

 _Yes_ , because she’s nearly there so everyone think she’s important; she’s not, but she will be, after today.

“It seems like I have a visitor.” Xavier smiled warmly as Drake led her onstage. “What’s your name?”

Yes, because they’ve met a dozen times and her husband died for him and _you motherfucker_ -

“You can’t even remember my fucking face!” Jean said coldly as hot flames engulfed her and her surroundings, shaping into a form that roughly resembled a giant bird made of fire, a fiery phoenix that devoured the entire stadium in its heat. Drake tried to protect Xavier and the President with a shield of ice, but his gesture was as futile as trying to put out the Sun with a water gun. They were all burned.

After today, Jean Summers (nee Grey) became the pride and joy of Liberals for all eternity: the first and only woman to have successfully assassinated a sitting President of the United States of America.


	6. Chapter V: Viva la Revolution!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Revolution is in the individual spirit, or it is nowhere. It is for all, or it is nothing. If it is seen as having any end, it will never truly begin. We can’t stop here. We must go on. We must take the risks.

#  **Chapter V: Viva la Revolution!**

_The Revolution is in the individual spirit, or it is nowhere. It is for all, or it is nothing. If it is seen as having any end, it will never truly begin. We can’t stop here. We must go on. We must take the risks._

“Laura… ”

“ Finally, you’re back! ”  Laura turned around to meet Weapon V. “You just fucking walked off after you showed me the plane thing. What the fuck was that all about? Where have you been all this time? I - ”

Before her very eyes, the man who she  believed to be indestructible collapsed into a puddle of blood.

“Laura…”  Weapon V coughed. “Listen carefully...my end is here, and I don’t have long in this world.”

“Weapon V…!” Laura panicked. “Oh God...! Don’t talk, I’ll go get the bandages! Just...hang in there!”

“No...” Weapon V shook his head. “I’d be dead by the time you’re back, there are things I must say…”

“This country is not saved...far from it. But its old beliefs are in shambles...and perhaps from their ruins we may rebuild. That is their task...to rule themselves, their lives, loves, and lands...with this achieved, then let them speak of salvation...for without it, they are surely carrion, a fine feast for the crows…”

“Oh no…” Laura held Weapon V’s cold body in her arms, her clothes soaked in blood. “Oh please…”

“By the turn of decade they shall know their fate: either a rose bud of true freedom among the rubble blooms, or else it has bloomed too late, and a poisonous flower of Fascism shall blossom in its place. But what about you, little sister, now that I’m dead and gone? What does destiny has in store for you?”

“You’re not!” Laura cried, her warm tears dripping onto the pallid white mask. “You’re not gonna die!”

“ Hush, now. You must learn whose face lies behind this mask, but you must never see my face. Clear? ”

“ What? ”  Laura blinked. “What are you saying? No more puzzles, Weapon V! Don’t leave me like this!”

“White House...” Weapon V’s breaths grew shallow. “Black bird...must fly...gi ve  me a Viking funeral…”

“Good luck, sweet Laura.” was his last words. “I love you, little sister.”

The he stopped breathing.

\\\V//

“ Brothers, sisters, and everyone in between and beyond, I have an announcement: ”  Magneto addressed the striking workers before one of Stark’s factories. “I have slain the villainous terrorist Weapon V.”

A commotion broke out among the crowd; both from the news of Weapon  V ’s death, and the  apparent resurrection of a revolutionary vanguard long thought dead, presumably murdered by the government.

“While we condemn his chaotic methods and anti-State rhetoric, we must also thank him for awakening the social consciousness of the American people.” Magneto continued, “He reminded us why a country built upon the dreams and labors of workers should not be controlled by a few elites and robber barons; a nation of workers should be just that: a country by the workers, for the workers, of the workers!”

“ Humans, Mutants: ”  Magneto raised his fist high into the air. “One struggle, one Brotherhood!”

While the people got properly riled up by his speech, a handful of black vans arrived at the scene, and police officers with body armor and riot shields aimed their automatic weapons at the unarmed mass es .

“Old man?” one of them called out from under his skull mask; it was Frank Castle. “Where the hell have you been? What the fuck are you wearing? Are you a goddamn faggot or something now?”

“I’m homosexual, yes.” Magneto said calmly as he lifted the vans with his mind. “And Frankie boy?”

“My name is Magneto.” then he made Castle and his Banishers roadkills beneath their own vehicles.

\\\V//

Laura stared at the body. She didn’t know how long it had been. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Days? 

She walked down the spiral staircase, thinking about everything Weapon V had told her. She couldn’t believe he was dead. He wouldn’t die and leave her in all this confusion. So he couldn’t be dead. That was all there was to it. She would walk up those stairs and through that door and he would be alive and it would just be another mean trick, another part of her education. No hanging back, she went back...

No movement.  D ead then.  What happens next? Weapon V never said. He said he was educating her, but he never actually said what he was educating her  _for_ . He never told her what she was supposed to  _do_ .

She walked toward the body, very quietly, very reverently; stooped down, her fingers struggling with elasticated straps, she took off the mask…

His name was James Howlett. He was one of the X-Men, way back when the X-Men was just Xavier’s personal superhero team, plugging holes created by a corrupt system without addressing the underlying rot. As time went on, he grew increasingly disgruntled, and after one black-bag job too many involving the death of a child, he turned on his former masters and was sent off to Genosha for re-education…

No. That wasn’t what she did. What she did was, in tears she stumbled over to the corpse. It was slippery with blood beneath her fingers, but she tore the mask aside, and…

Their name was Raven Darkhölme;  they were Weapon W.  They wrote  a note when they thought they would die in  G enosha, but they survived while the actual Weapon V died. With their power of shapeshifting, they assumed the identity of Weapon V and proceeded to kill off everyone who worked at the camp, so no one would  know who they were and  go after their son while they avenged their  dead  girlfriend…

No. That wasn’t it, either. Because he was so  larger than life , Weapon V. And what if he was just a  _nobody_ ? Even if he was somebody, he would be smaller, because of all the people he could be but wasn’t…

She shook her head. Oh, she didn’t know. She didn’t know what she meant. She should just do it; she should just walk across the floor and take hold of the mask…

H er name was  Sarah Kinney,  one of Laura’s Mothers .  Sh e was taken away by the X-Men but instead of dying in the camps,  s he was thoroughly radicalized by h er traumatic experience  there .  Sh e went from a mild-mannered  woman and political moderate to a violent extremist and political radical, once again showing  people how there w as no greater recruitment tool for terrorism than government cruelty…

No, she was past that one. Weapon V wasn’t her  Mother ; she knew that. Even if he was, it wouldn’t be enough. If she took off that mask, something would go away forever, be diminished because whoever he was isn’t as big as the idea of him. But he said she had to learn w hose face lies behind th at mask…

So she started walking towards the body, trying not to tread in all the blood. It didn’t move. It didn’t look much like a person anymore; something had gone from it. She knelt, her hands were trembling, she could hardly find the fastenings, but finally she lifted away that maddening smile…

Her name was Laura Kinney. The State murdered her  Mothers , and the Capital forced her into crime. She was nearly raped and killed by the people who had sworn to protect and serve, until an outlaw saved her and took her under his wing, teaching her everything the school is afraid for her to know. Weapon V asked what her destiny was; she thought he wouldn’t believe in destiny, but now she understood.

Destiny , free  will : the same thing. 

Came here, put here: no difference.

What was done to her created her.

She didn’t light the match.

She was simply the  flame .

And at last she knew. 

She knew who Weapon V must be.

So s he smiled that maddening smile...

...A nd put on the mask.

\\\V//

The prison doors rattled and then came loose from their frames under Magneto’s command, releasing the inmates back into the civilized world that rejected them because of their race, gender, or religion.

“What is your name, child?” he asked the closest prisoner, a teenager with brown skin and blue hair.

“Dominic Petros.”

“Did your parents pick it for you,” Magneto asked. “Like when they picked your cloth es and school?”

“Look, I don’t like it either.” Dominic said. “But it beats being called Snowflake just ‘cause I’m enby.”

“ I don’t want to hear the name your parents or anyone else g a ve you.” Magneto shook his head. “I want to know the name you chose for yourself. ”  he shot a quizzical gaze toward the other inmates.  “Well, perhaps your former housemates could provide some ideas…?”  indicated them with a wave of hand.

“I’m Darwin.” said the black man whose features were ever-changing, adapting to the circumstances.

“Call me Jubilee.” said the Chinese woman who created the November 11 th fireworks for Weapon V.

“Negasonic Teenage Warhead.” all eyes gathered on the lesbian. “...What? It’s a good name, innit?”

“Do you realize,” Darwin smirked. “That you can sing that name with the tune of  the  Nin j a Turtles?”

“ You really can, heh. ”  Jubilee giggled. “Negasonic Teenage Warhead! Teenage Mutant Negasonic!”

“Hm, how about…” Dominic put a finger to xis lips and thought about it for a while. “... _Avalanche_ ?”

“Pleasure to meet you, Avalanche.” Magneto smiled and offered xer a gloved hand. “I am Magneto.”

“Wait, what? You’re Magneto?” Jubilee blinked in surprise. “THE Magneto? From the Brotherhood?”

“No way, man!” Darwin shook his head. “He’s dead! No one had seen him since the Legacy Virus!”

“Well, I - ” Magneto was interrupted when a prison guard came running; the name tag revealed him to be one  Mr.  Kibblesmith. Avalanche shot the man a dirty glance, and then suddenly grinned widely.

“Yo, dipshit!” Avalanche laughed as a snowflake fell onto Kibblesmith’s head. Then another. And then another. The snowflakes kept falling until the dipshit was buried in an avalanche. “I’m Avalanche!”

\\\V//

“ They’re still there? ”  asked one of the Madroxes. “All the same fucking mask. Gives me the creeps.”

“ Tell me about it. ”  said another of the Madroxes. “It’s like that  goddamn Occupy shit all over again.”

“ It’s that Weapon V clownface. ”  the third Madrox said. “Reminded people about that stupid V mask.”

“ At least they’re not doing anything. ”  observed the first Madrox. “Just sitting there, waiting for…?”

“ Magneto came back from the dead. ”  the second Madrox said. “They wish Weapon V would too.”

“ People don’t come back from the dead everyday. ”  the third said. “This isn’t a fucking comic book.”

As if on cue, the speakers around the plaza crackled to life, and a silhouette appeared atop a nearby building, framed by a cloak and a top hat, arms raised to the sky in the shape of the letter “V”.

“ Good evening, America. ”  the villain said. “I would introduce myself, but truth be told, I don’t have a name; you can just call me Weapon V. Don’t worry now, I’ll keep this one short and sweet as well…”

“ Since the dawn of the human race, a small minority of oppressors took up the responsibilities we each should have taken for ourselves. ”  Weapon V said. “In doing so, they took our power; by doing nothing, we gave it away. We propped up these idols in the hopes that they would protect us from prosecution, but we also gave them the  authority to oppress the less fortunate. We have seen where their way leads, th r ough concentration camps and burning battlefields, straight toward the human slaughterhouse.

“ The founders of this nation put down the laws in the misguided belief that the institution will protect us from tyranny .  But all rules are tyranny, and all institution s are oppression; when people trust in the institution s of the State and the system of Capitalism as surely as they believed in  a heavenly God , they created a worse kind of tyranny: a tyrannical system with no face, no soul, and no mind, it knows only to consume everything in its path in service of the institutions, a tyranny cheered on by the majority.

“In Anarchy, there is another way. With the myth of State and Capital out of the way, the real bond that binds us together as human beings becomes apparent. Our only responsibility is to ourselves and each other; we are to accept no rules, no systems, and no institutions, but to give our fellow human beings a helping hand when one is required of us. With that achieved, from ruins shall come new lives, hope reinstated. Everybody says that Anarchy is dead, but you see, reports of my death were...exaggerated.

“ Tomorrow, the White House will be destroyed, its walls reduced to rubble, an end to what ha d came before. ”  Weapon V concluded. “Tonight,  all of you musk ask yourself a question: are you ready to do more than just wearing the mask? Are you ready to embody the mask and its message? Are you ready to become a weapon: a weapon against injustice, a weapon against tyranny...a weapon  of Anarchy?”

“And so, adios.”  Weapon V tipped her top hat at the crowd before she vanished behind the building.

A moment of quiet contemplation preceded the uproar; the more absolute the hush, the more shocking the thunderclap. At last the people realized their suffering was caused not by the cruelty of fate, but by the injustice of their fellow human beings, and a great tide of righteous fury swept over the nation, and there weren’t enough  Madroxes  in the whole world to stop a people who had awakened to the truth.

\\\V//

“ All species on Mother Earth needs her to survive. ”  Gaean Medusa told the handful of Inhumans on the roof with her. “But Mother Earth doesn’t need any of us. Everyone looks to an environment killer like Stark or his accomplices in the government when they said ‘looking out for number one’; well, it’s time someone starts looking out for the  _real_ number one! The Inhumans will succeed where humans fail!”

A dark shape leapt out of a bat-shaped helicopter and landed on the roof near the Inhumans. Everyone could readily tell who the newcomer was; Bruce  Wayne , a good-for-nothing playboy with the power to create shockwaves when he shouts. He became a trillionaire by the virtue of marrying the princess of Wakanda, but all he did with that fortune was making a bat fursuit he could beat poor criminals in. 

“ Your villainy ends here, Poison Ivy! ”  he said slicing at the hair-vines covering the building with a bat-shaped knife. “Release the good, hard-working bankers inside this building from your vines at once!”

“My name is  _Gaean Medusa_ , bat-brain!” she said with a sigh and her hands on her hips. “And why should I? The Earth and the people don’t need bankers to survive, but they sure as hell need more plants!”

“Because you don’t own this building!” Bruce growled. “The survival and well-being of the planet and the human species are secondary to a piece of paper that says who owns this plot of God-made land!”

“Well, when you put it that way - ”  Gaean Medusa wanted to snark him more because he was  _so_ close to having a breakthrough, but it was interrupted when a pair of giant palms crushed him like a cockroach.

“Kamala!?”  Gaean Medusa  blinked. “Did you just fucking murder him? Good job, I’m so proud of you!”

“Did not.” Kamala examined the broken Bat as she peeled him from her shrinking palms. “A shame.” 

“ Well, take him with us then. ”  Gaean Medusa said as she turned to leave. “He might just get it right yet.”

\\\V//

“ Give me a Viking funeral. ”  he  told her . That wasn’t much. That was n’t much to ask. Not after what he did. He came out of an abattoir unharmed, but no unchanged. He realized the necessity of freedom and equality, not just for himself or the selected few, but for all human beings. He realized it, and instead of just talking about it, he dared to put it into action. She didn’t agree with everything he said and did, but at the end of the day, she would rather have him by her side than anyone who ha s nothing but words.

His foes thought he sought vengeance upon their flesh alone, but he gorged their ideology as well, what little there was to it; he revealed Liberalism and its mockery of democracy for the shams that they are, a mere hotbed for extremism to fester and grow among the victims of its apathetic institutions. Desperate people act, desperately. Either they’d put the blame on the marginalized people they’ve oppressed and march toward an early grave with Fascism, or they’d have to embrace the true liberty of Anarchism.

Now the people stood within the ruins of their civilized society, a prison meant to feast upon their lives and outlive them all. The prison gate was open; they could leave together, or fell instead to squabbling and new chains. The choice was theirs, and no one else’s, as ever it must be. She would not lead them, but she would help them build, and she would fight if they were again threatened by predators that wish to harm and exploit them. The age of wolverines was no more; they had no place in this better world.

“ Give me a Viking funeral. ”  he  told her . 

“ It’s yours, brother. ”  Laura whispered and put  Weapon V into  a casket full of spider lilies. “It’s yours.”

Away. Away he went, with all his spider lilies and C-4, soaring high in the sky within the embrace of a metal Valkyrie. How much explosives were on that plane? She never bothered to count the packages. More than enough, she’d bet; it’s always double or nothing with him. “The Blackbird must fly”, he told her. Lockheed SR-71 "Blackbird": the plane used by X-Men back when they were Xavier’s superhero team, with stealth technology from the genius called Forge.  “ Give me a Viking funeral. ”  he  told her . 

She had 5 minutes to take the elevator to the roof. It was so easy for her to find her way around now. Upon her guided tour, Weapon V showed this place to her and told her it was his will; she didn’t get it back then, but of course he was right about this place – it  _was_ his will, and she was the sole beneficiary. It’s 6:16; he was almost there now, speeding on his winged funeral barge across the endless expanse of the sky, slicing through the breaking d a wn toward his destination, the final resting place for this hero:

The White House. 

The explosion itself was a surprisingly uneventful affair -  t he White House fell  just  like any other building.  No doubt the civilized people and polite society would decry her as a terrorist and murderer like her predecessor, but in all fairness she did give them a warning 24 hours in advance. 

Isn’t it funny that when a powerful nation drops bombs on innocent Arab kids unannounced it’s hailed as a bold and heroic move, but when struggling insurgents engage a tyrannical regime in battle they are always branded terrorists, regardless of whether they upheld rules of conduct?

Descending now to claim her heritage, she thought about the tasks ahead: so vast, so vital, and so vexing. She felt wired, elated, enthusiastic, and maybe just a little bit scared. But that was what liberty means: being free to face your fears and overcome them, instead of being imprisoned by the fears of oneself and others.

She would do it not because it’s easy, but because it’s difficult. She would not flinch away from the enormity of the task like all the cowards who only claim to care, for she knew the truth: when one good person suffer, all good people suffer with them; apathy in the face of tyranny only validates tyranny as an acceptable strategy. If you don’t rise to the challenge and defend those being oppressed, you will stand alone when it’s your time to be oppressed, and your time _will_ come.

She had things to do. People to see.  Laura found  the girl when “ Weapon V ” was  heading back from the plaza;  her comrades called her Kitty. Kitty could phase though solid object s , but was caught off guard when the police jammed the  S ignal  and ambushed her from behind .  Laura had rescued her among the chaos and took her to the safety of the Danger Room; now she’s just waiting for the  k itty to wake up.

“Nyaaaa…” the girl finally came to it. “Where…?”

“Welcome to the Danger Room,  Kitty .” Laura said. “You can call me Weapon V. This is my home.”

\\\V//

“ It may be too late to save the future. ”  Anthony Stark said mournfully, his body covered by an experimental exo-skeleton. “Just as the Fascists and assorted other bigots had taken over Wikipedia and other online services and websites, turning what were supposed to be shinning examples of intellectual freedom and human collaboration into exercises in gatekeeping and authoritarianism, they may have already won the battle between authority and freedom, between State control and free market. But you know what?”

“ Even if we can’t save the future, ”  Stark put on the helmet attached to the exo-skeleton, and then lifted a heavy machine gun like it’s nothing and fired it at the police. “We can still sure as hell  _avenge_ her!”

“ Avengers Assemble! ”  Captain Rogers shouted and threw himself between the police and  Tony  Stark, protecting the mad man with his riot armor and shield, both painted with the colors of the US flag. A cop tried to sneak up on him and shoot him in the back, but was stunned at last minute by a redhead woman in a black cat suit. She peeled her hand away to reveal a  miniature stun gun mounted on a ring .

“ So nice of you to join us at the rally, ”  Stark said with a slight smirk under his helmet. “Miss Tree.”

“ Oh, come on! ”  Miss Tree spread her hands in defeat. “I  joked that I can  disguise as a tree  _once_ . Let it go!”

“ Not when it’s such a good bit, no. ”  Rogers laughed, then noticed a vagabond on the sidewalks and called out to him. “Friend! Would you like to join the fight for truth, justice, and the American way?”

“ Nah, bub. ”  the vagabond smiled thinly and shook his head. “I’m good.”

Then the vagabond named Logan went quietly into the good night.

\\\V//

“So in the end,” Jubilee – the Chinese girl who created the November 11th firework - spoke to a laptop sitting inside a briefcase labeled “FACTS”. “Just who _is_ Weapon V, really?”

“Which one?” the words appeared on the computer screen, just below the miniature webcam.

“The original.” Jubilee said as she rummaged through the content of a briefcase labeled “LOGIC”. “The visitor who blew up the Statue of Liberty. The villain who rescued Laura. The masked vigilante killed by Magneto.”

“Don’t you get it, Jubilee?” appeared on the screen. “Weapon V is any one of us. Always had been, always will be. Anyone willing to not only wear the mask but live it, anyone willing to actually stand tall in the face of tyranny instead of just taking about it, is Weapon V: the once and future Anarchist.”

“Action speaks louder than words” Jubilee nodded as she put on the whole outfit: the mask, the top hat, the black cloak, the opera gloves, everything. “See ya later, Forge.”

Then she went on her date with Destiny, living the mask instead of just wearing it, fighting tyranny with her action instead of words, a shadow of creation gone to meet the night.

As you watched her receding silhouette – yes, _you_ , who is reading this story on your computer – this line appeared on _your_ screen:

Are You Weapon V?


End file.
